#I still need to come up with a proper name for this story

[greenleaf4stuff]

In Convenience - Chapter 1, part 1

Adar x Celebrimbor (silverscars) political marriage to marriage of love AU, post story chapter 1, part 1. Despite Sauron’s defeat, remnants and memories of his presence still linger. Celebrimbor finds himself conflicted when the matter of wedding rings comes to his attention.

Hehe, look who’s back – that’s right, it’s me! With a post-story snippet! Can’t believe I am managing to do *that* as well. Truly, this little 'verse continues to be a welcome anomaly in my existence as a fanfic writer. Not complaining in the least though! This is a little bit angsty but it has a healthy helping of fluff and comfort mixed in I think. The boys have won, but that doesn’t mean its all sunshine and rainbows along the way. Thankfully, them being together means it will only get easier as time goes on. (Also yes, the title for the post-story bits collection is a play on 'inconvenience'. I think it’s funny. :P) Enjoy!

"Why aren’t you wearing a ring?"

The question was so wholly unexpected that it startled Celebrimbor from his work. He’d been distracted, again, trying to clean up the forge tower. Almost every part of it had been turned into a mess when Adar, Gil-Galad, Elrond, Galadriel and their guards made to attack Sauron there, likely even before then.

Clearing it of the bodies of the fallen had occured without Celebrimbor present. He suspected that it was done for his benefit, since some of his assistants had been among them. He’d visited the dead in the aftermath, when they’d been prepared for proper burials by elven or uruk standards. He shuddered to even think about it – despite the elation of having prevailed over Morgoth’s shadow, there were still remnants of his presence everywhere.

This question, too, exposed one such remnant.

Celebrimbor turned to the elf who’d asked him the question; Nethiel, if he remembered her name correctly. Not yet an assistant, but an apprentice, quite young and looking at him with big, round eyes. She hadn’t been an apprentice yet when the Deceiver had resided in the city, had in fact only joined the others in Celebrimbor’s employ a few weeks ago. The smith found himself grateful for it.

"Pardon?" he asked.

"A wedding band," she clarified, and – seemingly interpreting his silence for confusion, not dismay – continued. "You are married to the leader of the o- uruk, are you not? So why aren’t you wearing a ring?"

Celebrimbor had always prided himself on the fact that his people didn’t have to fear speaking their mind in his presence. He wanted to be a leader who listened to his people and their concerns, their worries, their questions. Especially so after what had almost happened to Eregion.

And yet, in that very moment, he treacherously wished the apprentice didn’t quite find herself so comfortable asking these things.

She couldn’t know how complicated his emotions on the matter were. How guilt, love, and self-loathing converged whenever he remembered that indeed, neither he nor Adar wore a sign of their marriage, despite the pride he felt towards their union and what it represented – for their people and them personally.

If only it could have been anything but rings.

He sighed and turned to Nethiel. As he looked up, he saw Mirdania throw him a concerned glance as she took off her gloves and moved over towards him.

She, too, had been reluctant to return to the forge tower. Undoutably, she also held painful memories of this place, although she hadn’t spoken of them to him yet. But then again, neither had he, at least not in full.

Elrond had assured him that these things needed time. In theory – and from prior experience –, he knew this to be true. That didn’t make it any less painful in the current moment.

Not just for himself; Mirdania had been one of his brightest, most enthusiastic and gifted assistants. Now, her usually cheery outlook had been dampened in such a way that she sometimes startled at loud voices and generally shared less of herself with others.

Celebrimbor could only hope that she had not lost her passion for forge work as well. It was certainly something he, in part, still struggled with.

Though this was not solely due to one thing, it was a combination of circumstances. The tower, which held bad memories. Smithing, which he had only partially regained for himself in Adar’s camp, though it came easier to him whenever he helped Gurlak in her forge for example.

Making rings, specifically, was something he found almost impossible to even consider at the moment.

Why couldn’t it be anything but rings?

He was saved from having to answer when Mirdania appeared at their side. She easily touched the apprentice’s shoulder, but was cautious as she reached out a hand to Celebrimbor as well, expression unusually guarded. Only when the Lord of Eregion gave her a fond smile did she brighten a little and touch his arm.

"How about you take a little break?" she said, adressing Celebrimbor as much as Nethiel. "We have all been working on cleaning up this place the whole morning. Maybe we should go outside and get some fresh air."

By the apprentice’s confused expression, the dainty elven woman was rather insistent on steering the younger one away, but Nethiel ultimately let herself be guided without a protest. "Did I say something wrong?" she asked, looking between the two older elves.

Celebrimbor softened, and shook his head at her. "No, not at all. It’s just as Mirdania said – I find myself a little fatigued, that is all." He motioned for them to walk ahead. "Go outside, I’ll be along shortly."

It said a lot about the apprentice that she nodded in response with a rather contrite expression on her face. She still tried to offer an apology, which Mirdania was quick to dispel with a smile and by deftly changing the topic. The assistant threw Celebrimbor a questioning look over her shoulder – asking, without words, whether he would be okay.

His smile widened, touched by her concern. The smith nodded and slightly jerked his head to shoo her outside. Mirdania, too, could use a break after all.

She nodded, quickly, and the two elven women walked out of the forge together.

With a start, Celebrimbor realized the others who had helped with the cleanup had also left. Whenever that had happened, he had no idea.

It left the elf standing the middle of the messy room. It was a bit demoralizing, perhaps, that he and the others had already done so much work and yet, the smithy still looked as if a maiar had exploded in the middle of it. Literally.

He remembered how one of his builders had mentioned that the forge part of the tower would either need extensive repairs...or to be taken down and rebuilt from the ground up.

Neither option seemed particularly appealing to the smith.

With a deep sigh, he looked up, only to find his husband emerging from the stairs.

It was still a marvel to Celebrimbor how the other’s presence made warmth and the feeling of safety spread through him. How his mood lifted whenever he laid eyes upon the other. The sheer strength of his happiness knowing that this one was his.

It was as if a dark cloud had been cleared from the elf’s thoughts, and he smiled, exhaustedly but brightly, as Adar stroke towards him.

The other also wore a smile on his face. Smaller than Celebrimbor’s, but Adar was typically more subdued in how he expressed himself. To the smith, the smirk was the same as the other giving him a wide, elated smile.

Adar looked over the interior of the smithy as he went, and then quirked up an eyebrow at Celebrimbor. "Perhaps my uruk should come up here and help you after all," despite the flippant manner in which he said it, the uruk’s tone soon became more serious. "Looks like things are coming along more slowly than anticipated."

The elf let his shoulders sink as he looked around. His smile grew smaller, but at least it did not completely disappear. The two of them had always been honest with one another, and while he wished to spare Adar his own self-pity, he did not think it fair to openly lie about his own feelings either. Adar would be quick to recognize them anyways, perceptive as he was.

It was one of the things Celebrimbor cherished about him.

"It’s...a struggle. In more ways than one," he turned to Adar. "The physical work and trying to organize what is left of my notes is taking a lot of time and effort. And that is without considering the prospect that working on the structure itself might be a fool’s errand."

"But that is not all of it," the uruk deduced. Celebrimbor looked at him and nodded, his eyes quickly drifting away again. His smile finally left his face completely, even as Adar stepped close to him.

"No, it is not," the smith admitted, and gladly let his husband hold onto his elbow, a silent, gentle comfort. He returned it with a grip of his own. It brought him back to the time when Adar had killed that hill troll, Damrod, in his camp to protect Celebrimbor.

He was glad for Adar’s strength, his quiet presence. Not just in battle, but in situations like these. The uruk’s history with Sauron had hardened him in many ways, but also made him uniquely suited to understand Celebrimbor’s complicated feelings.

He looked at the uruk, and found only compassion in the other’s eyes. It made it easier for Celebrimbor to be honest, in a way he hadn’t yet been able to be towards his assistants, or even with his friends.

"I’d hoped working on cleaning this place up might bring me some solace, but instead I find myself pondering too many painful memories. And seeing Mirdania and the others similarly afflicted...it’s difficult, at times."

Nevermind all the other things that occupied his mind.

His words sprung forth without his conscious decision and before he could stop them. Adar tended to have that effect on him, inspiring honesty and trust where Celebrimbor would otherwise have been more hesitant. "One of the new apprentices asked me why I didn’t wear a wedding ring, today."

Celebrimbor felt himself grow still at his own words. He hadn’t anticipated the question would bother him that much. Nor had he planned to let Adar know about it, either.

The Lord Father of the uruk had enough to deal with as it was – some of his children were planning on packing up the camp and moving back to Mordor, meaning he was involved in organisational matters most of the day. The rest, who planned on remaining for the ongoing peace talks, needed to be taken care of in terms of food, drink and shelter from the sunlight.

And then there were the peace talks itself, which had overall gone rather well in the aftermath of a shared victory, but were time-consuming and often frustrating with how detailed everything had to be in both word and writing.

Also, there had been some talk of a big celebration as well. Not just of the peace itself, though that seemed to be the main reason. But no, people wanted a proper celebration of the marriage. Since, according to all Celebrimbor had heard, it was considered the foundation of not just the victory over Sauron, but the peace that would surely now come for the elves, the uruk, and hopefully soon Middle-earth as a whole.

So no, something as simple as wedding rings shouldn’t be a concern of Adar’s right now, not when he had so many, and so many more important matters to consider.

Somewhat annoyed at himself, Celebrimbor looked at Adar again. The other had raised his eyebrows and was watching his husband as if trying to figure something out, before understanding dawned on his face.

"You think you should be the one to make them."

Celebrimbor truly did cherish Adar’s perceptiveness, which often worked to the point that the other could glean things from the smith’s mind that he himself hadn’t been quite able to put into words.

Strangely, it was nothing like what Sauron had tried to do. When the fallen maiar had rummaged through Celebrimbor’s mind, it had always been a means to an end.

When Adar spoke aloud what the smith himself did not even dare to think yet, it was a sign of understanding. Of how much he cared, despite how stoic and emotionless he first appeared to others.

The elf nodded, and tipped his head forward. Adar mirrored the movement until their foreheads touched, and Celebrimbor closed his eyes when he felt Adar grab onto his other arm as well.

He felt steadied, understood, kept safe. In this little space, he knew he needn’t fear his own weakness. It was a relief.

"I suppose I do," he admitted, voice quiet. "I am a smith, and I have made rings before. I should be able to do so again, should I not? To overcome what I last made in this forge? To honor us?"

Adar hummed and remained quiet for a moment as the two of them breathed in each other’s air. It was strangely calming to Celebrimbor’s unsettled mind.

"I do not require a trinket to represent, or show, the worth of our marriage. I have not required it when we first joined as potential allies, and I do not need it now that we are joined in love."

Celebrimbor opened his eyes and locked them with Adar’s. The other was so utterly steadfast as he spoke, his words like absolute truths against the questions and worries the smith found himself pondering.

"It is an Eldar custom, not one of the uruk. Do not strain yourself on my behalf, or ours. We are bound by more than shiny metal. And you are defined by more than your last work in this forge – after all, another fine work of yours helped us achieve victory."

Celebrimbor smiled at Adar’s words. Indeed, the sword he had reforged out of Morgoth’s crown had been made after the rings for the dwarves and his attempts to fashion the rings for men. Its pieces still laid where Sauron had been impaled onto it in fact, and the smith let his gaze wander in that direction.

He took a shaky breath and lightly nodded, careful not to dislodge where their foreheads were touching. "You’re right. I know you are right."

Another breath. This one already came out easier. "It’s a struggle to remember sometimes. What you said – that healing from him will take time and that I will face challenges along the way. And that we can forge our own path, together. Thank you for reminding me."

Adar gently squeezed his arms and brought Celebrimbor closer, before he rubbed their noses together. The motion made the elf grin and return the gesture.

The uruk, too, was smiling when he pulled back and cupped the smith’s cheek. "Of course. Come, let us follow your assistant’s example. I think it would do you well to leave these rooms for a while."

The smith nodded, and felt easier as Adar lead him along.

...And yet, even as he felt that his husband’s words were true, as he tried to turn his thoughts away, he couldn’t quite put the idea of the wedding rings out of his mind.

Like his ambitions to surpass his grandfather’s legacy, the idea to overcome Sauron lingered in the back of his skull.

Perhaps, he might surprise himself and his husband yet?

[seasaltandcopper]

Got bored and decided to do some piccrews for Teddy and Mal's little vampire hunter story. This is the main three of the cast.

Images below the cut:

Mal | he/him | vampire | appears to be mid-twenties

Teddy | she/her | human (vampire hunter) | 31

Will | he/him | human (vampire hunter) | 30

used this piccrew for them

Pt 1 of the story | Masterlist

[theantitheticalchiasm]

you ever work on your story and suddenly realize one of your OCs needs a new outfit for reasons???

anyways, this is Shin. he’s a grim reaper.

[acourtofquestions]

KINGDOM OF ASH (by SJM)

Chapter 48

THE FAMILY REUINION🥹😆😭🫶& MY SOULLL

But when they reached Princess Hasar's battle tent, when they had all gathered around a map of Anielle, they had only a few minutes of discussion before they were interrupted. By the person Chaol least expected to walk through the flaps.

A moment later, Chaol was glad he was sitting down.

Nesryn breathed, "Holy gods."

Chaol was inclined to agree as Aelin Galathynius, Rowan Whitethorn, and several others entered the tent.

They were mud-splattered, the Queen of Terrasen's braided hair far longer than Chaol had last seen. And her eyes ... Not the soft, yet fiery gaze. But something older. Wearier.

Chaol shot to his feet. "I thought you were in Terrasen," he blurted. All the reports had confirmed it. Yet here she stood, no army in sight.

Three Fae males-towering warriors as broad and muscled as Rowan—had entered, along with a delicate, dark-haired human woman.

But Aelin was only staring at him. Staring and staring at him.

No one spoke as tears began sliding down her face. Not at his being here, Chaol realized as he took up his cane and limped toward Aelin.

But at him. Standing. Walking.

The young queen let out a broken laugh of joy and flung her arms around his neck. Pain lanced down his spine at the impact, but Chaol held her right back, every question fading from his tongue.

Aelin was shaking as she pulled away. "I knew you would," she breathed, gazing down his body, to his feet, then up again. "I knew you'd do it."

"Not alone," he said thickly. Chaol swallowed, releasing Aelin to extend an arm behind him. To the woman he knew stood there, a hand over the locket at her neck.

Perhaps Aelin would not remember, perhaps their encounter years ago had meant nothing to her at all, but Chaol drew Yrene forward. "Aelin, allow me to introduce"

"Yrene Towers," the queen breathed as his wife stepped to his side.

The two women stared at each other.

Yrene's mouth quivered as she opened the silver locket and pulled out a piece of paper. Hands trembling, she extended it to the queen. Aelin's own hands shook as she accepted the scrap.

"Thank you," Yrene whispered.

Chaol supposed it was all that really needed to be said.

Aelin unfolded the paper, reading the note she'd written, seeing the lines from the hundreds of foldings and rereadings these past few years.

"I went to the Torre," Yrene said, her voice cracking. "I took the money you gave me, and went to the Torre. And I became the heir apparent to the Healer on High. And now I have come back, to do what I can. I taught every healer I could the lessons you showed me that night, about self-defense. I didn't waste it-not a coin you gave me, or a moment of the time, the life you bought me." Tears were rolling and rolling down Yrene's face. "I didn't waste any of it."

Aelin closed her eyes, smiling through her own tears, and when she opened them, she took Yrene's shaking hands. "Now it is my turn to thank you." But Aelin's gaze fell upon the wedding band on Yrene's finger, and when she glanced to Chaol, he grinned.

"No longer Yrene Towers," Chaol said softly, "but Yrene Westfall."

Aelin let out one of those choked, joyous laughs, and Rowan stepped up to her side.

Yrene's head tilted back to take in the warrior's full height, her eyes widening-not only at Rowan's size, but at the pointed ears, the slightly elongated canines and tattoo. Aelin said, "Then let me introduce you, Lady Westfall, to my own husband, Prince Rowan Whitethorn Galathynius."

For that was indeed a wedding band on the queen's finger, the emerald mud-splattered but bright. On Rowan's own hand, a gold-and-ruby ring gleamed.

"My mate," Aelin added, fluttering her lashes at the Fae male. Rowan rolled his eyes, yet couldn't entirely contain his smile as he inclined his head to Yrene.

Yrene bowed, but Aelin snorted. "None of that, please. It'll go right to his immortal head." Her grin softened as Yrene blushed, and Aelin held up the scrap of paper. "May I keep this?" She eyed Yrene's locket. "Or does it go in there?"

Yrene folded the queen's fingers around the paper. "It is yours, as it always was. A piece of your bravery that helped me find my own."

Aelin shook her head, as if to dismiss the claim.

But Yrene squeezed Aelin's closed hand. "It gave me courage, the words you wrote. Every mile I traveled, every long hour I studied and worked, it gave me courage. I thank you for that, too."

Aelin swallowed hard, and Chaol took that as excuse enough to sit again, his back giving a grateful tinge. He said to the queen, "There is another person responsible for this army being here." He gestured to Nesryn, the woman already smiling at the queen. "The rukhin you see, the army gathered, is as much because of Nesryn as it is because of me."

A spark lit Aelin's eyes, and both women met halfway in a tight embrace. "I want to hear the entire story," Aelin said. "Every word of it." Nesryn's subdued smile widened. "So you shall. But later." Aelin clapped her on the shoulder and turned to the two royals still by the desk. Tall and regal, but as mud-splattered as the queen.

Chaol blurted, "Dorian?"

Rowan answered, "Not with us." He glanced to the royals.

"They know everything," Nesryn said

"He's with Manon," Aelin said simply.

Chaol wasn't entirely sure whether to be relieved. "Hunting for something important."

The keys. Holy gods.

Aelin nodded. Later. He'd think on where Dorian might now be later. Aelin nodded again. The full story would come then too.

Nesryn said, "May I present Princess Hasar and Prince Sartaq."

Aelin bowed—low. "You have my eternal gratitude," Aelin said, and the voice that came out of her was indeed that of a queen. Any shock Sartaq and Hasar had shown upon the queen bowing so low was hidden as they bowed back, the portrait of courtly grace.

"My father," Sartaq said, "remained in the khaganate to oversee our lands, along with our siblings Duva and Arghun. But my brother Kashin sails with the rest of the army. He was not two weeks behind us when we left."

Aelin glanced to Chaol, and he nodded.

Something glittered in her eyes at the confirmation, but the queen jerked her chin at Hasar. "Did you get my letter?"

The letter that Aelin had sent months ago, begging for aid and promising only a better world in return. Hasar picked at her nails. "Perhaps. I get far too many letters from fellow princesses these days to possibly remember or answer all of them."

Aelin smirked, as if the two of them spoke a language no one else could understand, a special code between two equally arrogant and proud women. But she motioned to her companions, who stepped forward. "Allow me to introduce my friends. Lord Gavriel, of Doranelle." A nod toward the tawny-eyed and golden-haired warrior who bowed.

Tattoos covered his neck, his hands, but his every motion was graceful. "My uncle, of sorts," Aelin added with a smirk at Gavriel. At Chaol's narrowed brows, she explained, "He's Aedion's father."

"Well, that explains a few things," Nesryn muttered.

The hair, the broad-planed face ... yes, it was the same. But where Aedion was fire, Gavriel seemed to be stone. Indeed, his eyes were solemn as he said, "Aedion is my pride." Emotion rippled over Aelin's face, but she gestured to the dark-haired male. Not someone Chaol ever wanted to tangle with, he decided as he surveyed the granite-hewn features, the black eyes and unsmiling mouth.

"Lorcan Salvaterre, formerly of Doranelle, and now a blood-sworn member of my court." As if that weren't a shock enough, Aelin winked at the imposing male. Lorcan scowled. "We're still in the adjustment period," she loudly whispered, and Yrene chuckled.

Lorcan Salvaterre. Chaol hadn't met the male this spring in Rifthold, but he'd heard all about him. That he'd been Maeve's most trusted commander, her most loyal and fierce warrior.

That he'd wanted to kill Aelin, hated Aelin.

How this had come about, why she was not in Terrasen with her army ... "You, too, have a tale to tell," Chaol said.

"Indeed I do." Aelin's eyes guttered, and Rowan put a hand on her lower back. Bad— something terrible had occurred. Chaol scanned Aelin for any hint of it. He stopped when he noticed the smoothness of the skin at her neck. The lack of scars. The missing scars on her hands, her palms. "Later," Aelin said softly. She straightened her shoulders, and another golden-haired male came forward. Beautiful. That was the only way to describe him. "Fenrys ... You know, I don't actually know your family name."

Fenrys threw a roguish wink at the queen.

"Moonbeam."

"It is not," Aelin hissed, choking on a laugh.

Fenrys laid a hand on his heart. "I am blood-sworn to you. Would I lie?"

Another blood-sworn Fae male in her court.

Across the tent, Sartaq cursed in his own tongue. As if he'd heard of Lorcan, and Gavriel, and Fenrys.

Aelin gave Fenrys a vulgar gesture that set Hasar chuckling, and faced the royals. "They're barely housebroken. Hardly fit for your fine company." Even Sartaq smiled at that. But it was to the small, delicate woman that Aelin now gestured. "And the only civilized member of my court, Lady Elide Lochan of Perranth." Perranth. Chaol had combed through the family trees of Terrasen just this winter, had seen the lists of so many royal households crossed out, victim to the conquest ten years ago.

Elide's name had been among them.

Another Terrasen royal who had managed to evade Adarlan's butchers.

The pretty young woman took a limping step forward, and bobbed a curtsy to the royals. Her boots concealed any sign of the source of the injury, but Yrene's attention shot right to her leg. Her ankle. "It's an honor to meet all of you," Elide said, her voice low and steady. Her dark eyes swept over them, cunning and clear. Like she could see beneath their skin and bones, to the souls beneath.

Aelin wiped her hands. "Well, that's over and done with," she announced, and strode to the desk and map. "Shall we discuss where you all plan to march once we beat the living shit out of this army?"

[sunni-stuff]

You who's studying abroad in the UK where you have a one night stand with Ghost at a bar; it's a special night for the soldiers and he gets lucky after making you laugh by telling a shitty joke thanks to the liquid confidence in you. You ask his name, and he tells you there's no need — that you'd forget by the end of the night.

Taking you back home, there was no time wasted. The man practically has you seeing stars. He pumps you full of cum, whispers absolute filth in your ears and leaves bruises on your thighs by the time it's all over. He at least cleans you up, gives you proper aftercare before disappearing while your still fucked out of your mind.

Anyways, a great night. perfect 10/10, you have a story to tell your girls. So, your life continues on track as normal, right?

Wrong!

You dream of him. You have countless dreams of him. They were graphic reenactments of that night. His stubble rubbing against your cheek, his lust-filled eyes burning into yours even in the darkness. And oh, his voice - deep and confident - the very reason why you were drawn to him in the first place.

He creeps into your dreams every single night without fail, so much so that it frustrates you. surely not because you were soaking wet afterwards, no, no, it was only because he was so annoying! Surely it wasn't because you’d end up pumping your fingers in and out your soaked cunt for hours in hopes of recreating that mindblowing orgasm he'd given you only to fail each time.

After your 10th failed attempt to cum, you crack asking the friend who took you out to the bar in the first place if she knew who the soldier was and she claims her boyfriend does. You've met Kyle before, he's a handsome man with dreamy eyes and a gentleman's demeanor.

Kyle tells you he'd pass the word back to his lieutenant, but he's a busy man who doesn't stay in one place. There's no guarantee he'd even respond.

Lucky you, screwing a lieutenant who probably doesn't remember who you are or won't have the time to find out.

The waiting game painfully starts all while the dreams continue. Each torturous night leaves you more and more agitated than before. By the 4th night, you already embraced the restlessness sure to come when the vibration of your phone changes everything.

Directly on the home screen was a text from an unknown number. There was no name, but you had a feeling who it was based on the message.

“Keep the front door unlocked for me.”

A/N I wrote this during hurricane francine when my power went out, I think she gave me superpowers. Idk I'll start flying tmr!!

P2 here

[arolesbianism]

The Joshua section of my oni playlist is looking great so far

[ovrgrwnivy]

THE WALLS ; JJ MAYBANK

SYNOPSIS ; when an unknown face appears in the outer banks searching for a father she's never met, she's unaware of how her life is about to be completely turned upside down.

WARNINGS ; jjmaybank x routledge!reader, strong language, depictions of violence, afab!reader, sexual content, mentions of abuse, drug and alcohol consumption, strangers to lovers, fast burn to slow burn, canon adjacent, not proofread.

AUTHORS NOTE ; buckle up pookies, as this is merely part one of a multi-part fic that spans as far as the end of season three ( on the fence about season four but we will see ). as noted above, this fic will be canon adjacent, mainly focusing on the storyline as portrayed in the outer banks chapters of the 'netflix stories' mobile app. without any more of my yapping, i hope you all enjoy!

you can't help but squint once you step off the bus, your dollar store sunglasses doing very little to shield your eyes from the burning, outer banks sun. you bring your hand up in an attempt to further protect your eyes, needing to make your way to the seahorse hotel and fast.

a flash of long, blonde hair invades your vision, something you don't think twice about until the body attached to said hair knocks right into you, saturating your white tank top with her oversized cherry-coloured drink.

there's a beat of silence between both of you, behind darkened lenses your eyes bore into the girl before you. if looks could kill.

"shit! i am so sorry!" the blonde apologises, face turning as red as the newfound stain on your shirt. her hand darts out in an attempt to miraculously wipe the stain away "oh god, this is so embarrassing."

a part of you feels empathetic, it was an easy mistake to make in hindsight. another part of you wanted to push past the girl and continue getting on with your day.

"my name is sarah," she continues rambling, her hand still frequently scrubbing at the stain, making it worse "i didn't get your name, well no shit" the last part is barely a mumble, but you still catch it.

an unintentional laugh escapes you, finding amusement in her panicked awkwardness "if i tell you will you stop feeling me up?"

it was a joke, at least mostly, yet sarah froze in horror as the realisation set in. she was feeling up a stranger at the bus stop.

before she can begin rambling again, you speak up "my name is y/n." purposefully, you drop the surname. sure, sarah seemed sweet, but that didn't warrant spilling your life story at her feet.

sarah nodded in acknowledgement, taking a step out of your personal space and taking a proper look at you "touron?"

your face screws up, it feels like she just called you a name you couldn't repeat "excuse me?"

"you're a tourist, right?" sarah clarified, gesturing towards the scruffy backpack hanging from your shoulder.

"not quite," you trail off, unsure of how to broach your new arrival without dropping yourself in hot water "just, in town for a while."

"unlucky you.."

"unlucky how?"

sarah links her arm through yours, all but dragging you down the street alongside her "i'll fill you in on the way."

your protests and kidnapping allegations fell on deaf ears, only being told to stop being dramatic as she dragged you along. eventually, the dragging falls back into you willingly walking with her through pristine neighbourhoods that housed buildings like nothing you had ever seen.

you listened as sarah explained the outlandish rules that accompanied living on the island. the outer banks were essentially split in half, the kooks and the pouges, the haves and the have-nots, the sarahs and the y/ns.

when her pace eventually stalls, you have to tense your jaw to stop your mouth from falling open. you had seen some serious houses on the way here, but compared to sarahs they looked like dives.

"welcome to tanneyhill" sarah beams, but you can feel the uncertainty bubbling inside her as if she was embarrassed "come on, i'll show you my room."

you follow her through the glass doors and into the manor, eyes intently scanning the walls as you climb the staircase "you make a habit of bringing random strangers into your house?"

"do you make a habit of going home with random strangers?"

"depends if they're my type."

your quick rebuttal elicits a laugh from sarah as she pushes the door open, waving you into her room and heading straight for the closet "and what is your type?"

"you sweet on me, stranger?" you tease, your playful tone making it clear you were simply messing with her.

"with my whole heart, newbie" she laughs, the contents of her closet being dropped to the floor as she rifled through it "but our secret love affair must remain hidden as i am a taken lady"

with a dramatic gasp, you slap your hand to your chest and fall back on the bed "you wound me."

"sarah 'the heartbreaker' cameron is what they call me." as you're processing her surname, a white cropped tank is flung at you from the opposite side of the room "now, come on, boy talk"

"what if i wanna girl talk?" you question, holding the piece of fabric up to examine it "sarah 'the homophobe' cameron more like"

as she crosses the room to sit alongside you, sarah rolls her eyes "my sincerest apologies, sex talk then"

"cameron now i really think you want me." you wiggle your eyebrows at her, huffing when she hits you with a pink pillow with a sparkly 's' "hey! watch the rhinestones"

"you know, i was gonna try play matchmaker at the boneyard tonight but if you wanna be like that.."

"you just said a lot of words with very little meaning" you tut, not fully clued in on the outer banks slang.

by now you have risen to your feet, standing between the bed and the window as you changed into the clean shirt, balling up the stained one and stuffing it in your backpack.

"its a pre-storm rager on the beach, the one place kooks and pouges get along. we party as long as we can and when the storm hits, run for cover"

you're only half listening to sarah, instead your attention hones in on the head of curly brown hair down on the dock as it moves along a boat named 'my druthers'.

you barely register the figure by your side, watching just as closely as you were as the brunette is joined by three others, laughing and joking.

"that would be john b," without looking you can hear sarahs grin, mistaking your fascination for attraction.

"routledge?" your mouth opens before your brain can stop it, you knew who it was, but you needed to hear it.

"you know him?"

finally, your brain catches up and you somehow manage to pull a lie out of your ass "not personally, saw him on tv. some appeal for his dad."

sarah bellows out a soft, sad sigh, letting her thoughts be known without saying a word. there's an unspoken air of silence between you, until sarah, literally, shakes it off and stands upright again.

"wanna meet him?" the blonde offers, despite the fact its more of a demand as you're being dragged along once again.

only this time your refusal is much clearer, practically begging the girl to let you go before she managed to get you out into the yard. again sarah is misreading the situation, interpreting your panic as awkward butterflies.

your demands persist, though much quieter as you're dragged further down the dock, closer to john b and his friends.

"hello, ladies" john b's blonde friend greets with a low whistle and a cheeky grin, shamelessly checking both you and sarah out.

for a moment your anxiety vanishes, your entire nervous system sparking still but for different reasons. this might be the most beautiful boy you've ever set eyes on.

this. this was your type.

"you're new" he speaks, gesturing towards you "that's for sure, yet to be a time i've forgotten a face like that." with a wink, he takes your hand to place a kiss on the back of it.

you curse god. why couldn't you have met this guy somewhere else? why wasn't he the blonde stranger that took you home?

"you done macking on the kook?" a girls voice echos from behind him, her words and her expression dripping with disgust as she eyed you.

"i'm not a kook." you bite back, sightly too aggressive for a first impression but you couldn't help it with the look of clear disdain embedded on her face.

sarahs arm links through yours, a mumbled "easy, newbie" falling only on your ears "y/n is new in town, i brought her down here while i found out what you guys are doing on my dads boat." despite her civility there's a challenging edge in her voice.

"lest ye forget, i work here."

john b, suddenly emerging from the ships hull and hurling a snide smile in sarahs direction. you had only ever seen him on fuzzy news broadcasts, he was taller than you had anticipated, confrontational too.

though, genetics could explain that one.

"can we help you?" the girl speaks again, sending your eyes rolling as you face john b.

"can you tell your guard dog to stand down? last i checked one of us was invited here and funnily enough it wasn't her"

you hear another boy mumble an excited "cat fight!" to your new, blonde, hyperfixation as they exchange money on bets.

"seriously? i expect this shit from jj but pope? disappointing" john b tutted, sounding like a disappointed father as he got off the boat "not looking for trouble, just bringing back the diving shit, full."

menial conversation is exchanged between sarah and john b, though your attention mainly resides with the newly named jj. he was leaning back against the boat, rolling a joint without a care in the world.

you try to keep the glances to a minimum, after all you had much bigger problems to wade through right now, but you simply couldn't look away. he was the definition of magnetic.

even when he catches you looking, there isn't a morsel of awkwardness, just a knowing look of curiosity that lingered far longer than it should have.

then, he winks. he fucking winks before returning to rolling with that stupid, insanely hot grin on his face. you were far from shy, and only for the audience around you, you would've jumped on him long ago.

any reckless ideas potentially coming to fruition is spoiled when sarah, still linked with you, retreats back toward tanneyhill. with a final glance back at jj, you hold your thumb and pinky to your ear and mouth 'call me', earning yourself a wink and a crossed heart in return.

maybe this wouldn't pan out to be a total shit show after all.

[taylorman2274]

We Care About You (Part III)

Those who have been with you since the beginning discuss the differences they've noticed with and without your presence.

Content Warning(s): Jean, Kaeya, & Albedo Story Quest Spoilers; Mondstadt Archon Quest Spoilers

Notes: SAGAU; GN!Reader; [T/N] = Traveler Name

Word Count: 2.1k

Previous || Next

Taglist: @silverstarred; @victoria1676; @angelofdarkness2; @areaderspov; @andromeda-gay; @ash1; @mercy-not-merci; @toodledoodl3;

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The sun had fully risen over the horizon by the time all the stores in Mondstadt's main plaza had opened for the day. Blanche was finishing setting up her fruit trays on the counter by the time Marjorie and Timeaus arrived at their respective stores. Sara, on the other hand, had already opened up Good Hunter half an hour ago. This was in case there were any early birds or if any of the aforementioned shopkeepers wanted a quick bite to eat before work.

Today, the Traveler and Paimon were examples of early birds, as the two were enjoying breakfast from Good Hunter. However, as they were eating their respective meals, they were approached by Raymond, a Knight of Favonius.

"Morning, Traveler. Morning, Paimon," he greeted. "Sorry to interrupt your meal, but I'm here to inform you that your presence has been requested by the Acting Grand Master. She requests that you head on over to headquarters immediately."

Paimon groaned. "Does Jean really have to summon us this early? Paimon hasn't even finished her Fisherman's Toast yet."

"I apologize once again, but it would be rude to keep the Acting Grand Master waiting," Raymond replied.

The Traveler shook their head. "No worries. I'm just about finished anyway." They got up from their seat. "Would you like for me to get you a to-go box, Paimon?

"Get a to-go box? Has Paimon not already proved to you what she's capable of? Watch this!" Paimon proclaimed before chowing down the rest of her Fisherman's Toast as quickly as Paimonly possible.

...Said way involved burying herself nose-deep in her plate and practically inhaling all the food left on her plate. The Traveler and Raymond even had to hold their hands up to their faces to protect themselves from any flying food.

Maybe they shouldn't have bought her a triple stack...

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Despite being invited by Jean herself, The Traveler decided to knock on her office door. It was only proper manners.

"Enter."

They opened the door and allowed Paimon to enter first before letting themselves in. As soon as Jean recognized them, she gracefully got up from her chair and walked around to the front of her desk.

"Thank you for coming on such short notice, Honorary Knight. I know you must be tired.”

The Traveler shook their head. "It was no trouble. Paimon and I were already up to begin with."

"Is that so? It's a shame my cuties didn't think to greet me in the library first thing in the morning. Your company can certainly revitalize this mage's energy." Came a voice to their left. Both newcomers swiveled their heads to look at the other visitor partially hidden in the corner.

"Lisa? Were you called here by Jean as well?" questioned Paimon.

"I was," Lisa confirmed, perplexion etched on her face, "Though I haven't been told why yet."

"I called you both here for the same reason. However, not everyone has arrived yet. We're still waiting on two more people. Once they’ve arrived, I’ll explain everything," Jean explained.

To pass the time, the Traveler, Paimon, and Lisa began to catch up with each other on what had happened since they last met while Jean leaned against her desk and peeked at the ticking clock on the wall from time to time.

She wasn't worried about the other two members being late. They each were fellow Knights of Favonius members after all. They know the standards that need to be set in order to maintain their position.

A few minutes later, everyone in the office could hear rapid footsteps from outside the room. Not even a second later the door was thrown open by Amber who quickly entered the room and put her hands on her knees to catch her breath.

pant ... pant ... "Sorry I'm late, Jean. I got caught up with something."

Jean shook her head. "Not to worry, Amber. We haven't started talking about anything yet." Jean snuck a peak behind Amber towards the open door. "Did you happen to see Kaeya on the way here?"

Amber straightened up and nodded her head. "I did, actually. He's..."

"Right here."

Kaeya smoothly walked into the office and quietly shut the door Amber left open behind him.

Jean gave a quick nod. "Good. That should be everybody." Everyone gathered around Jean in a semi-circle. "I bet you're all wondering why I've called you here this early."

"To put it simply, I'd rather get this discussion out of the way before we all start work for the day. This mainly concerns the Traveler, but I promise you all are important to this discussion as well."

Jean turned her attention to the Traveler. "First off, how are your adventures going?"

The Traveler looked at Jean in confusion. Jean called all of them here just to ask them about their adventures? "...Pretty well I guess. I've hit a few obstacles here and there but it was nothing I couldn't handle."

Jean nodded. "That's good to hear. And what about this latest obstacle you're facing?"

Now it was Paimon's turn to be confused. "Latest obstacle...?" she murmured, "Oh! Do you mean [Y/N]?"

Amber, Lisa, and Kaeya all widened their eyes in surprise as they looked at Paimon. Jean nodded once again.

"Yes. That's exactly the reason why I've called you all here. Although I may not know much about [Y/N], I understand that you all have had some experience with them. If you could tell me all that you know about them, I'll get a better understanding of what our next action should be."

The Traveler nodded in understanding before looking around at the others. "Should I go first, or do you all want to share your thoughts now?"

Amber was the first to reply. "Sure! I'll go first. In my opinion, the Traveler and [Y/N] are the same person, but also different people. When I first met the Traveler outside of the Whispering Woods, they introduced themselves as [Y/N]. However, once we dealt with the sources of Stormterror's power in the abandoned Four Winds' Temples, they seemed much livelier. That was when they explained that they were actually [T/N], and [Y/N] was this 'ghost or entity-like thing' that possessed them against their will.

Lisa nodded. "It's true. When we were traversing through the last temple, I felt as if my body was not under my control, but I was still conscious to witness what I was doing. It was scary at first, but after a while, I kind of got used to it."

Jean raised a skeptical brow. "And why is that?"

"Because [Y/N] and I were trying to achieve the same thing. They guided me through the temple, defeated all of the enemies, and destroyed Stormterror's crystal, all things that I originally intended to do myself."

Jean brought a hand to her chin. "Interesting..."

Kaeya raised his hand, signaling to speak next. "It's not just that, either. Later on when I had the Traveler lure some Treasure Hoarders to some ruins, one of them accidentally activated a Ruin Guard while attempting to flee. We managed to take it down, of course, while being guided by [Y/N], but I noticed that I had gotten stronger in between fighting the treasure hoarders outside the ruins and fighting the Ruin Guard. We defeated the Ruin Guard a lot quicker than I thought we would."

Jean furrowed her brows. "But Ruin Guards are a lot harder to defeat than mere Treasure Hoarders. Surely you must be exaggerating?"

Kaeya chuckled. "I can assure you, Jean. The strength I gained when guided by [Y/N] is no exaggeration. Surely you must've felt their presence yourself?"

"Outside of the day when I got burnout, no. But even then, I didn't exactly feel I was much stronger."

"Oh!" Amber blurted out. "Speaking of getting stronger, I've noticed that [Y/N] has improved some of my abilities as well! For example, the day before we pulled that whole sleeping stunt on [Y/N], we were helping them complete some commissions around Mondstadt. While we were completing them, I noticed that I could suddenly fire two arrows with one shot! Not only that, but I was able to manually detonate my Baron Bunny by shooting at it!"

Amber frowned. “The only downside is that I haven't had much success replicating these abilities when I'm not with [Y/N].”

"So you've noticed as well?" Lisa asked. "I thought I was the only one to notice." She turned her attention back to Jean. "You see, [Y/N] typically has me defeat hydro slimes whenever they appear, and with them I'm normally able to defeat them in one or two hits. However, I wanted to test a theory I've been thinking about recently. So I went to go find a hydro slime and see how many hits it took to defeat it. Just as I thought, it took nearly double the number of hits before it was beaten."

"I see. And is this something that we should look into?"

"No. I just thought it was something worth mentioning."

"Alright then. And when [Y/N] does guide you, is it only to complete commissions?" Jean inquired.

"Oh no!" Amber eyes sparkled. "We've been helping the Honorary Knight and [Y/N] all across Teyvat! It's amazing!"

Jean smiled. "Then you all must be enjoying your adventures, I presume?"

"But of course!" exclaimed Amber. "I've always wanted to see the world beyond Mondstadt and it's just as grand as I imagined."

"That's good to hear." Jean then looked down at the floor and sighed. "...Honestly, there are times when I wish I could throw my work to the side and travel alongside you, Honorary Knight."

"Paimon is certain that [Y/N] would love to have you join their Adventure Team! If it becomes possible, Paimon will put in a good word for you."

Jean chuckled. "Thanks, Paimon." She turned her attention to the Traveler. "And what about you? What do you know about [Y/N]?"

"It's a pretty long story. The first time I ever got a clue as to who [Y/N] was was when I was in the middle of helping Albedo with his research. During the middle of some experiments, I felt their presence leaving. However, almost immediately after they left I saw a bright light in the sky. It only lasted for a few seconds, but when the light went away, I saw that it had come from Celestia!"

Jean looked shocked for a moment but quickly composed herself. She had an image to maintain after all. "Really?! From Celestia?"

"Yes. Albedo saw it as well and it piqued his curiosity. To make a long story short, he found out that for a brief moment, the light that spawns from Celestia forms as if one is opening a door to an unlit room. He hypothesizes that whoever [Y/N] is, they are not from Celestia but somewhere beyond it. Maybe even another world entirely."

Kaeya smirked. "From another world, eh? So does that mean [Y/N] is an alien?"

The Traveler shook their head. "I don't think so. Most of the worlds I traveled to before Teyvat were inhabited by humans. I would assume that if [Y/N] is from another world, they would be human as well.

"How certain are you?" inquired Jean.

"I'm like 90% certain they're human," the Traveler confirmed. Amber hummed in thought.

"Do you think they might be a god?"

“A god whose eyes are focused on a world separate from theirs? Sounds unlikely to me,” countered Lisa.

"Regardless..." Jean interjected. "[Y/N] has been absent for a while now, correct?" The Traveler nodded. "Have you thought about continuing your journey without them should they not come back?"

"I've had the thought. But I'm willing to wait however long is necessary if it means I get to see them again."

Jean put a hand to her chin. "Are you sure? I would gladly be willing to have Amber, Lisa, or Kaeya travel with you for the foreseeable future."

Paimon nodded. "It's been almost a week since that incident, and yet Paimon has never seen the Traveler lose any determination at all!"

Jean nodded as well. "I see. In that case, I believe that is all I have to say for this discussion. It was nice meeting you once again, Honorary Knight."

"The same goes for you, Jean.”

Everyone exchanged goodbyes with each other and, minus Jean, prepared to leave the office. However, just before they left...

"Hey. Is it just me, or is it getting brighter outside?"

Kaeya looked towards Amber. "I'm sure it's just the clouds moving past the sun."

Amber shook her head, keeping her gaze towards the window. "No... I didn't see any clouds when I first came in..."

The room was silent. Some looked to the window while others kept their attention on Amber.

Suddenly, Paimon gasped.

"Paimon!" The Traveler shouted in surprise. "What's wrong? What happened?"

"...They're back..." she whispered.

The Traveler tilted their head. "Who's back?"

Paimon was too stunned to speak, but it didn't take long for the Traveler to figure out why. Their eyes grew wide in shock.

"[Y/N]!!" They suddenly exclaimed as they bolted past everyone. Everyone quickly followed the Traveler outside.

Once they all gathered outside. They quickly turned their gaze towards Celestia. Just as they thought, a light, though less noticeable during the day, was slowly getting brighter.

"Sorry, Jean! We've got to go! Don't wanna be late!" Paimon quickly said before everyone aside from Jean was teleported away.

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"It sure is taking a long time to check for updates," you thought.

After countless research, note-taking, and several anxiety breakdowns, you were finally ready to hop back onto Genshin and meet up with the people who you now realize are alive and sentient.

"I hope all this makes a good impression on them."

The door appeared.

With one click, you would be back to where this trouble all started…

Breathe in… Breathe out…

click

The door opened.

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Author Side Notes: I looked at my fanfiction and decided that it needed LORE™

Once again, I'll be editing this chapter over the next upcoming days. I sort of prefer it as opposed to keeping this in my drafts. I don't want you all waiting for the next part too long!

[fuckyeahdindjarin]

V ║Raw Edge

Joel Miller x F!Reader

{ Part IV: Notch | Behind the Seams: Part V | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist }

Rating: E, a proper E!

Summary: One lazy afternoon, Joel tests your patience.

Warnings: Sexual tension, some language, gratuitous descriptions of the male body, flirting, fingering, explicit grinding, shy!reader, reader has a nickname related to her job, soft!domestic!Joel, no use of Y/N

Word count: 2k

Notes: It's been a long and winding road y'all, but I'm finally back with an update on the main series. It is a short one, more of an interlude, but it will get us where we need to go for the next chapter. Thank you for your patience, I don't take you guys' understanding and love for granted for even a second. Releasing this during the Seams sleepover, more drabbles coming your way for the remaining month of March!

Raw edge - the raw, raveling, and unfinished, cut edge of the fabric.

It’s fitting that Joel is a patient man. He’s built for it, after all.

Those broad shoulders, the sturdy thighs, his sure hands - he’s steadfast as the mountains that loom over Jackson.

As the sun shifts over the ridges and valleys of the sierra through the seasons, bringing shadows into light, so does Jackson on Joel, and you learn that he’s many kinds of patient.

On lookout duty, even in the depths of winter, he becomes one with the stillness of the night, patiently watching over the safety of the town in the loneliest hours.

When townsfolk stop him on the high street for neighbourly chit chat, he obliges with polite patience, never rushing, but careful not to encourage conversation that is longer than necessary.

With Ellie, when she prattles on with a long-winded story from school, he listens with amused patience, letting her run her half-full mouth over dinner with half-hearted admonishment.

And with you - he is agonisingly patient with you, and yet, never in a way that leaves any doubt of his want for you.

You cannot be more grateful.

And in turn, you’re patient with him. As the green of summer softens with the tail end of the season, you pick up bits and pieces. You hear whispers of names. Tess. Bill. You glimpse ghosts of his past. Sarah. Frank.

You don’t expect him to, but you have the audacity to hope, that one day, if he finds it in him to let you in, you have shoulders to spare.

When the heat fades and the brisk autumnal chill starts to linger in the morning mist, you start to find that you like it when he’s not patient.

Not necessarily for the lack of patience thereof, but the fact that it’s worn thin by something else.

The way heat bleeds into his eyes when Lucy holds you up after your shift ends, fingers twitching, as if the caveman in him wants to grab you and drag you home, where you have planned on dinner - and more.

When you’re two bodies tangled in your sheets, breath short as he kisses his way down your neck and nips the underside of your breasts, bra cups pushed up only halfway because you’re still too shy to take it off completely. You feel him shudder, nails digging into your skin, nostrils flaring like he’s holding back from ripping the scant fabric off of you.

And late one evening, when you ask him for it, in heated whispers and your lower lip caught in your teeth, he oh so patiently works his fingers inside your wet heat - 

One, then two; 

Slow, then fast; 

Tender, then frantic - 

Until he feels you clench tight around the crook of his fingers for the first time, watch you arch clean off the bed, he bares his teeth and lets out a primal growl at the cry of his name on your swollen lips.

You find the thrill in getting under Joel Miller’s skin.

As the fall deepens, and trees start to shed in golden surrender, you’re caught off guard when he turns the table on you.

You don’t see it coming, your desperation, that lazy afternoon. It’s just another Saturday when Ellie is on her shift at the Outfitter with Lucy, and Joel is spending those free hours with you.

You’re not sure what got him into the mood, but the man is relentlessly teasing that afternoon, almost bratty in the way he toys with you. His hands go everywhere while you’re cooking, squeezing the swell of your ass then going north to cup your breasts, and stopping off everywhere in between.

Tips of your ears burning, you smack the back of his hands - so big and mapped with veins - just so you can get drain the pasta. Joel chuckles and kisses the corner of your mouth. ‘I like it when you’re bossy, sweetheart.’

He insists on eating on the sofa, with you between his legs, and you can feel him already hard and straining through his jeans. Neither of you really make a real go at the rapidly cooling marinara, and the plates are quickly pushed to the side as them meal degenerates into a full-blown make out session.

Not yet ready to let him strip you bare or for him to disrobe him completely, clothes hang half unbuttoned and unzipped on you both. The part of your brain that still has enough blood to reason likes it though - the demure flashes of skin under creased fabric, blindly touching and feeling where you can’t see.

Your jeans are pushed halfway down your thighs, bra pushed down under your breasts, the elastic straps digging into your shoulders. His shirt is open down to the second last button, bare chest rubbing against your nipples, the contact making you whine. His belt hangs open and his jeans are unzipped, but before you can reach down, his fingers slide inside your panties, twisted and sticky, teasing your wet folds. 

‘Joel,’ you whimper as he pushes two thick fingers inside you to the knuckle, your pussy slickly opening around him. 

‘Does that feel good, sweetheart?’ he asks, mouthing at your collarbone.

‘More,’ you gasp.

‘I got two in you already -’

Your voice cracks in a sob, your nails digging into his back. ‘Joel, I want more. Please.’

He glances at the clock ticking away on the wall and hesitates. The rational part of him knows that he has to leave in less than twenty minutes to pick up Ellie. But feeling you leak onto his fingers, pushing your hips against him to get his fingers even deeper, his cock twitches painfully hard in his pants.

He breathes through his nose to steady himself. ‘Sweetheart, we don’t have time -‘

‘Joel!’ you whine, almost petulantly.

He stares down at you, eyes wide at your desperation. He’s never seen you like this before, and fuck, he wants to give it to you. Wants to give you what you want, what he wants. What he’s wanted for long fucking months, woken up hard and throbbing dreaming about. But he steels himself - no, not when he’s on the clock, he won’t rush it. He will give you what you deserve, and not an ounce less. 

So he kisses you, long and deep, and bargains with you. ‘Listen, sweetheart, we can’t right now - but if you want to, we can try something new.’

‘Ok,’ you reply without hesitation.

A sharp breath catches in your throat when he eases his fingers out of you, and he brings them up to his mouth to lick them clean, his brow furrowing at your taste, thick on his tongue. Then you watch, transfixed, as he pushes his unzipped jeans down with his boxers, kicking them off his ankles - and his hard cock springs free of its confines. 

It’s taken you many months to drum up the bravery to map his body with your touch, and you’ve mostly done so in the safety of darkness, your shyness holding you back. To see all of him, jutting hard and thick in the stark afternoon light, you don’t even hear yourself whimper at the sight.

Joel holds your gaze as he slowly wraps his fingers around the swollen length and strokes himself, lips parted, watching you watch him. ‘You trust me, sweetheart?’

‘Yes.’

‘Gonna make you feel good, ok?’

His words make you squirm beneath him. ‘Ok.’

Grabbing the base of his cock, Joel shifts, looming over you and pushing your thighs apart so they’re bent at the knees to accommodate him. Then with a delicate finger, he traces under the seat of your panties and pulls them to one side, baring your spread pussy to his eyes. 

Your jaw goes slack the same time Joel bites out a filthy fuck. You know this is the first time he’s laying eyes on you there - you’ve been demure about that, preferring to be nose-to-nose with him while he buries his fingers inside you. But now, watching his eyes go black, nostrils flaring, an inexplicable high goes to your head, and you feel yourself clench around nothing.

His eyes fly to yours, and your lips part. Did he see that?

Before you can find out, Joel moves, and you hold your breath when he bows his head right where your legs are splayed open. Distracted by the beautiful chisel of his nose from this angle, you would’ve jumped right off the couch if not for his hands holding you in place when he dribbles spit onto your clit.

You cry out wordlessly, not understanding the visceral reaction of your body to the unexpectedly lewd act.

‘You’re plenty wet for me sweetheart, but this will feel even better,’ he says, spitting again, lower this time, and you tremble at the unfamiliar sensation of the wetness trailing down your folds. 

Tracing a thumb over you, Joel makes a low noise of satisfaction in his chest when it glides over your lips, frictionless. Taking a hold of the base of his cock, he positions the underside of his length in the seam of your folds - and thrusts. 

‘Joel!’ you whimper as the full length of him glides over the lips of your spit-wet pussy, from entrance to clit. He braces himself over you, and you hang onto his impossibly broad shoulders as he carefully rolls his hips, again and again. Rubbing along you just so, making sure you feel all of him despite not being inside you - that will have to wait.

You can feel your panties getting wetter, sticking to your skin, and Joel jolts a gasp from you when he roughly tugs the fabric hard to the side, baring more of you to his drunken gaze, witnessing the mess he’s making of you.

‘Listen t’ you,’ he slurs through gritted teeth, the lewd, wet slide of skin filling his ears. ‘Gonna sound even sweeter when I make you mine, sweetheart.’

With a whine, you arch off the couch, as if chasing the possessiveness in his words. Joel finds a rhythm that has the swollen head of his cock grinding against your clit with every thrust, and above you, he smears open-mouthed kisses over the secret spots he’s patiently unearthed by trial and error, until you’re shaking all over. It’s just what you needed, what you wanted - the elusive more that you didn’t know how to articulate. More than his fingers, but not yet ready to take everything that he can give you.

‘You’re close,’ Joel says, a quiet confidence to his verdict that coaxes a whine out of you. Holding a thumb over his cock, it presses even harder against your clit. His hips quicken in pace, and you know he’s chasing his own release as much as yours. 

‘It’s ok sweetheart, you can let go, let me feel you cum for me, let me feel that pretty pussy -’

And then you’re gone. Any illusion of control over your body is just that, an illusion, when the bubble bursts. White hot pleasure burns through your bloodstream, tendrils of heat blooming and swelling from deep inside you, spilling out your fingertips twisted tightly into his graying curls. 

Over the rush of blood in your ears, you hear Joel stutter fuck, fuck, fuck! before warm cum gushes over you, pooling in your belly button, spilling down your pussy and streaking your thighs. 

Limbs heavy and eyelids drooping, it’s hard to care when the cum stains your panties or the couch below. Not when Joel wraps his arms around you, lips brushing the nape of your neck softly as he brackets you from behind. 

Clinging onto the last vestiges of consciousness, you murmur, ‘You have to pick up Ellie soon.’

He grunts. ‘The little punk can wait.’

You smile, struggling to feel apologetic that the teenager might be waiting a while as Joel’s breathing slows, whistling softly by your ear. 

In the quiet aftermath, his words echo in your head. 

When I make you mine. 

Little does he know, he doesn’t have to - you’re already his.

Notes: Time has really flown by since the last main series update. I've gone through so many ups and downs since, and I really need to thank you guys for giving me the time to figure things out in terms of my writing and how this story will go!

As I mentioned in Behind the Seams: Part V, I have 2 more full length chapters planned for the main series. I don't know if there will be any more after that, but at the very least, I hope that I will be adding to the Seams universe through drabbles and oneshots. I wouldn't write off the possibility of more chapters to add to the main series if I find the inspiration.

Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed this chapter ❤️

[aglasspomegranate]

I can't get over the one sided love of a deity trapped in stone with a newcomer to their land.

Fields of Misteria has a dragon statue that seemes to be romanceable later on named Caldarus. They are immortal and trapped in stone because they have grown weak and their memory fuzzy.

You nurse then back into power by collecting nature essence by doing things around your farm. Cutting grass, tending crops. Cutting trees, clearing rocks etc.

I can't get over this idea of one sided longing or enamorment now. A mostly silent being who watches from afar as you wake up everyday just before the sun comes over the mountains in the distance and begin your work.

Diligently clearing land, planting and lovingly caring for your crops. The strength you built as an adventurer coming in handy with cutting down large trees and smashing large rocks with ease. The gentle way you handle your farm animals and the bonds you build with the community.

The beam of pride you have when you complete a days worth of work. Tired, sweaty, dirty---but happy and content.

They watch you get frustrated when you get tired and you're so close to being done, when your backpack gets too full too soon, watching you take breaks to restore your stamina and how you treat animals, even bugs, with kindness by shooing them away before clearing the next plot of land.

They see the gentle smile of your face as you water and weed your plants and hear you regale the silent stone with stories of your adventuring days. They see you run past into the village with gifts to give and materials to offer, help to aid those that need it.

They feel sad when you sleep in, noting how unusual it is for you to sleep in late and plead for you to take care of yourself and not push so hard. The mines are dangerous and their power is limited.

The find themselves worrying for you. Did you remember to make food? Are you eating a proper diet? Are you remembering to rest? You can be so stubborn sometimes.

They despise being so weak, they wish to speak to you more, to see your eyes light up with new information and to keep you company. To aid you in your self appointed quest of a manageable farm and happy life.

They find themselves excited for dawn, when you come out and stand in front of their statue--coffee in hand while you plan your day, knowing they can't respond but still treating them kindly, gently.

You make sure to scrub them clean when the rain comes to avoid mildew and moss growing on them. It can't be comfortable and somehow you think of it like a virus for them. They're your friend and you want them to be taken care of, since, as a statue it's not like they can clean themselves.

They think you are devoted to kindness to those around you.

And they wish to reward such devotion.

By returning it in kind.

[lemonlover1110]

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐬

Satoru Gojo

[Chapter 27] Moving Forward

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Pairing: Satoru Gojo x f!Reader

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“Shoko, can I help you?” You ask when you see the woman approach your desk. She looks nervous, and you can guess what she’s come to you about. You wait for her to speak though, giving her a moment to gather her thoughts. 

“Can we go out for lunch?” She finally spits out, and you take a long hard minute before answering. You haven’t had a proper conversation with Shoko in what feels like ages, and you haven’t been really willing to talk.

“Sure.” You end up shrugging, acting as if you couldn’t care enough. She’s about to say something else, but her words get caught up in her throat… Talking to you has suddenly become a hard task for her. She ends up deciding to keep quiet, turning on her heel to walk away, and just as she’s about to leave, Satoru calls out her name.

“Shoko! I need something from you, come into my office.” And she rolls her eyes before making her way to Satoru’s office. She goes in first, while he stays behind to have a word with you.

“Do you want to go out for lunch today?” Satoru asks, and while you’d agree, your schedule is filled up.

“I’m a busy woman today. I told Shoko I’d go to lunch with her.” You answer, and he raises one brow. That doesn’t make him change his mind though.

“I’ll join then.” He smiles at you, walking away before you can give him some sort of response. It’s come to the point where you enjoy having Satoru’s presence, especially when you know things are going to be awkward.

“This is a nice place… Is Shoko paying?” Satoru sits beside you, inspecting the restaurant’s menu. It’s pricey, though he shouldn’t worry about that detail since he has more than enough money to pay.

“No, you are.” You answer, and he sticks out his bottom lip. He really hasn’t changed over the past five years.

“Can someone treat me to dinner for once.” He complains, and you can’t help but roll your eyes. You reach over to grab his hand, giving it a light squeeze.

“I’ll treat you to fast food tomorrow, deal?” There’s a mocking tone in your voice, and he picks up on it quickly. He lets out a sigh, putting down the menu on the table and crossing his arms.

“Why did she even invite you out to eat? Is she trying to sleep with you too? Or is that just with Sayo?” Satoru asks which nearly makes your jaw drop. The information isn’t new to you, it’s just weird to hear it from the man himself. You end up chuckling.

“Probably to apologize for the Ren situation.” You tell him, and he raises his brows. He’s confused, until he remembers that you were hiding Ren. It’s not something that Shoko should apologize for, he thinks but then he takes a moment to think about it. He’s glad that Shoko said something, but you obviously feel different.

“Oh right… That was a secret and all.” Satoru mentions and you hum in response. He still can’t help but ask,  “Do we really have to do this?”

“I mean I guess she did do the right thing but she also betrayed my trust. And for what?” You say, and Satoru bites down his lip. You do have a point, Shoko betrayed your trust even if it was the right thing to do.

“I guess yeah…” He can’t really argue any further. He’ll forever be grateful to Shoko for telling him, but he can understand why you’re upset. He can’t control your feelings nor tell you how to feel, so he’ll watch you resolve the issue. Maybe try to help you with your feelings.

You two begin to talk about something unrelated, something lighthearted. Satoru makes a couple of stupid jokes that earn a couple of laughs from you. Laughs that are louder than you’d like to admit. Time gets lost in each other’s presence, though your joyous conversation gets interrupted.

“What are you doing here?” Shoko asks, her eyes lingering on Satoru. The lunch was for the two of you to talk over some issues, and for her to apologize, frankly she doesn’t want Satoru here. 

“I invited myself.” Satoru answers, and Shoko rolls her eyes. She ultimately takes a seat across from you since she can’t do anything else.

“What are you going to order?” Shoko questions, not even bothering looking at the menu. She’s been here many times before, she knows exactly what she wants. You and Satoru look from the same menu even when you have two, and he’s telling you what he thinks sounds good.

Satoru suggests something that he thinks you’d like, and you end up getting it. Once all your food is ordered, Shoko bites down his lip, trying to figure out the right words to speak. But she feels as if she’s forgotten how to speak. 

“So I assume we’re here for a reason.” Satoru makes the first step, and Shoko clicks her tongue. It takes everything in Satoru not to laugh.

“You weren’t invited.” Shoko points out. She’s avoiding eye contact, her nerves getting the best of her. An awkward chuckle leaves her lips, saying, “You’re making this very expensive actually, you should be paying.”

“Invite a guy out for once.” Satoru says, and she rolls her eyes again. “Make it up to me for sleeping with my wife.”

“Weren’t you cheating on her?” Shoko quickly brings up, and you feel your face get warm. You knew that as well, it’s just weird to hear that Satoru was having sex with other women.

“I’ll kill you.” Satoru’s eyes are wide, his cheeks turning pink. She can point that out all she wants, but not when you’re sitting right next to him. He clears his throat and tries to act calm. “I was not cheating on her.”

“Oh right… Because you’re technically separated.” Shoko says, and Satoru takes a deep breath because Shoko is working him up. She’s fighting back a smirk before saying, “We aren’t here for this, anyway.”

“No way your mom didn’t have more kids… You two are like siblings.” You laugh, acting as if you hadn’t heard what just left Shoko’s lips. What Satoru does is none of your business. It has been none of your concern for the past five years. 

“I’m surprised you two don’t act like siblings.” Shoko answers, and you grimace. She chuckles, her sweaty hands going to her pants. She takes a deep breath before focusing on you. Why is apologizing so hard?

“I’m sorry for telling the dumbass about Ren.” Shoko spits out, and it’s not the right way to apologize but it earns a laugh from you. Satoru rolls his eyes, pursing his lips together. Maybe it was best for him to stay. “It wasn’t my place but hearing that he was in the hospital and knowing Satoru was clueless made me feel guilty.”

“Yeah…” You understand her point of view, but you still can’t help but feel frustrated. It wasn’t her secret, but you also get that she was unwillingly dragged into this whole mess. You understand she felt guilty, and it’s selfish of you to expect her silence at the cost of her sanity. You do understand, but you still feel weird about it all. You still feel like you can’t trust her. “I guess I get it.”

“But…?” She asks, feeling that you’re not quite convinced. There’s something more, she knows it. 

“I don’t think I can trust you.” You tell her, and she bites down her lip before nodding in response. She should’ve expected a similar response. 

Food gets to your table, killing any possibility of long awkward silence. You begin to eat, and for the rest of lunch, Satoru makes the conversation.

After lunch, you find yourself spinning around in Satoru’s chair. You wouldn’t have dreamt of this a couple of months back, but once you have a son with your boss you get certain privileges.

“Are you just being lazy?” Satoru asks, sitting across from you in one of the most uncomfortable chairs that his butt has ever touched. You hum in response, and he can’t help but laugh. He proceeds to mutter, “I need to get a new secretary.”

“Watch it.” You warn him, and he sticks his tongue out at you. He wasn’t serious with what he said, but once he takes a moment to think about it, he does consider it. When you stop spinning on his chair and get a good look at him, you notice. “Now what did I do!”

“You’re kind of a bad secretary.” He says, and you furrow your brows. He sticks up his hands defensively before claiming, “I was joking. Best secretary I’ve ever had.”

“Then why are you considering it?” You respond, and Satoru bites his tongue. He instead focuses back on his paperwork, and you sigh. You’re not going to pester him for answers, so instead you inch closer to his computer. “Can I snoop on your computer?”

“Knock yourself out.” He answers, not bothering to look up at you. You unlock the screen in no time, a password so easy to guess that you’re almost disappointed in him. 

Your heart melts at the background photo that he has set. A picture of him and Ren at the beach. You proceed to click on his photos, trying to see if he has anything incriminating in his computer. Perhaps a photo of one of his lady friends since you know that his phone and computer are connected.

You don’t find what you expect, most of his photos are either of your son or of food. He barely has pictures in his camera roll, so it only takes a few scrolls to go back to five years ago. You find photos that you’ve never seen of yourself. Photos that you consider ugly, photos that he’s cherished the past five years.

“Ew, I’m deleting these photos.” You announce, and you begin to handpick the ones that are the ugliest of the bunch. Satoru jumps up from his seat and rushes to your side to take the mouse from your hand. 

“You can snoop around but you can’t alter anything.” Satoru tells you, while he selects a picture of you sleeping. He hovers the cursor on your chin, a smirk on his face, “Aw, look at you drooling.”

“Why do you even have this in here?” You ask him, and he chooses to remain silent. Instead he closes the app and turns off the computer. He rolls your chair away from his computer, and puts you beside his seat for the day.

“Why do you want to even snoop? I promise you won’t find anything fun.” Satoru says, taking a seat right next to you.

“Want to see your lady friends, see if your taste has changed.” You answer, and Satoru shakes his head disappointedly as a chuckle leaves his lips. 

“My taste has not changed, you’re still the only woman that has my heart.” He tells you, and you swear your heart melts but you remain strong. You roll your eyes at him before pointing out,

“Is that why you were sleeping around?”

“Are you jealous?” Satoru asks, and you quickly shake your head. And he says something so insincere because if it were to happen, he’s sure he’d jump off the building, “If it makes you feel better, you can sleep with anyone you’d like.”

“I wasn’t asking for your permission.” You reply. For some reason your words make him feel better, thinking that you’re not going to run off with some idiot in the end.

“On another note.” He clears his throat, and you raise your eyebrows. “What do you think about going back to school?”

“Huh? Where is this coming from?” You’re confused since you haven’t even mentioned going back to study.

“You don’t want to be my secretary forever, do you?” He makes a great point, though you don’t mind either. You get to goof off and Satoru doesn’t dare reprimand you anymore. Plus, pay is great. “You didn’t get to do what you wanted to do because I knocked you up, but now I’m here. I’ll take care of everything.”

“You know that it’s going to take a lot of time, effort and money for it.” You tell him, and he rolls his eyes. Bringing up money as if he didn’t just buy you a house. He has more than enough to support you financially.

“I’m here now, am I not?” He responds, and you have to take a deep breath. The words rest heavy on your chest, and you feel tears well up in your eyes. You wouldn’t have imagined how three words have such an impact on you.

He sees you’re on the verge of crying, and he throws his arms over you, pulling you into a hug. He rubs your back in an attempt to comfort you, “If I had known that the mere suggestion of going back to school would make you cry, I wouldn’t have said a word.”

“No it’s– I’m fine.” You try to play it off. It just makes him hug you tighter. He’s nearly leaving you out of air, on the plus side, Satoru smells really good.

“If you want to be my lazy secretary forever, you’re more than welcome to. I’ll even give you a raise.” He reassures you, and you laugh. He loosens his grip before pressing a kiss on your temple. “I’ll support you no matter the journey you want to take. Even if it includes an ugly husband.”

“What makes you say my husband would be ugly?” You focus on the least important thing.

“Because if you don’t marry me, he’ll be ugly.” He answers, and you click your tongue. You hate that he’s doing things right.

“Then you’ll have to deal with me and my ugly husband.”

[cheesiedomino]

Second Chances ꙳ ੭ * ‧

synopsis: your old situationship from many years ago just moved back in town and of course, he has to text you. but it’s not just any normal text — he’s asking you out on a proper date this time. will you give a second chance to Cupid? or will you be left here feeling stupid?

genre: lee minho x fem!reader | exes (??) to lovers wc: 4.6k tags/warnings: fluff, some light angst, slightly suggestive but nothing srs, mild cursing, kissing, small mentions of crying T-T

now playing 🎧: from the start by laufey

[this is part of my valentine’s series where i write a short story for each member surrounding themes of love, newfound romance, relationship hardships & more.]

“Why don’t you give Tinder a try already? I’m sick of hearing you nagging all day about being lonely!” Areum abruptly suggests mid-convo , resting her palm on the side of her face.

As you both casually wait for the food to arrive, you end up on the dreadful topic of dating again. You got into a real heated discussion with her, sitting in a booth at this new restaurant one of your coworker’s recommended. It wasn’t super well known but they wouldn’t stop raving about how delicious their breadsticks were. The place wasn’t too jam packed but definitely had a decent amount of people. What you weren’t anticipating on was seeing dozens of couples here, it kind of threw your whole vibe off since it only reminded you of your current sad relationship status. Maybe you were putting far too much thought into it but everything seemed so highly unfair. Glaring in envy while they all happily rub in your face that they’ve found their forever companion.

Life really can be cruel at times.

“You can’t be for real right now..” you instantly side eye your friend from across the table. Feeling personally triggered whenever she mentions online dating. You refuse to try it, never wanting to partake in such a vain concept where you swipe left and right based solely on looks. “That’s not the same as real romance. I want to meet someone naturally, wanna tell my kids when they grow up how I met their dreamy, hunk of a father in aisle 39 at Whole Foods.”

One could say it’s almost pathetic in a way— this burning desire you harbor within, longing for a pure, quaint, and beautiful love. Constantly catching yourself daydreaming about finding your life partner, the person you’re going to marry and possibly create an eternal family with. That day has yet to come unfortunately, but you still hold onto the thought of you someday meeting the one.

You thought you found them before, but thou shalt not speak thy names out into existence.

“Well, good luck finding ‘real romance’ in the big age of 2024-” Areum snorts in amusement, taking a pause to sip on her mango strawberry lemonade. “I need whatever drugs you’re on that’s making you this delulu so I can fantasize about my knight and shining armor that’s never coming!”

God you hate that word. Delulu. Why are you suddenly “delusional” for wanting a picture perfect romance? It doesn’t need to be perfect per se, but you want to feel adored, swept off your feet and embraced like the true queen you are. Was that too much to ask? Considering the current state of dating in this day and age, it might just be.

“I mean, let’s face it girl. You literally don’t know the first thing about love ___, it’s not all sunshine and rainbows like in the K-dramas y’know! Haven’t you only had like one boyfriend in high school? You barely even dated that guy for a month-”

“That’s because he dumped me to go move to LA and become a dumb YouTuber!” You snapped back, cutting her off to get all the facts straight.

It was hard not to grimace while thinking of such old memories. Dating a Minecraft streamer definitely had to be one of the most embarrassingly cringe choices you’ve ever made.

“Whatever that’s beside the point. What I’m trying to get at here is you don’t have the best track record when it comes to men. Remember that other guy you were seeing before we graduated? I thought y’all would’ve dated for sure but he turned out to be a dickhole just like the rest of ‘em…” Areum shakes her head in disbelief, recalling all those times you’d call in a frenzied panic about things not working out.

“What was his name again? Min… Minwoo? No, that’s not it.. it was definitely Min something.” She attempts on remembering but keeps drawing a blank.

“Minho.” You answer almost instantaneously. His name still rolled off the tongue smooth as velvet.

It felt weird though. Saying it out loud after so many years of blocking it from your immediate vocabulary. A name you thought would never escape your lips again.

“Damn, you really still think about him don’t you?” She dares to ask, knowing how difficult it is for you to even talk about this anymore.

You only respond by nodding slowly, unable to bring yourself to look at her. It was far too intense; bearing the emotions of hurt and guilt from a past fling that meant more to you but nothing to the other. That’s how most of your tragic stories end— always too overly into them while they barely reciprocate any of that energy towards you. The thing is, you thought Minho actually liked you, even so far as wanting to date in the near future. Considering he brought you over his parent’s house (to hook up of course), and though you didn’t meet them you still think that meant something. Most men don’t just bring any woman they’re seeing to their parent’s place without somewhat thinking a potential relationship could happen down the line.

“So that’s why you should download Tinder and start swipin’ on some other cuties! It’ll at least distract you for a bit and get your mind off that asswipe,” Areum pitches her idea once more, “there’s plenty other fish in the sea ___. Not everyone online is some crazy serial killer, plus you clearly don’t seem to be having much luck out in the real world.”

You wanted to jump up from the table and erase that smirk from her face but instead you roll your eyes at that last remark. “I don’t need those shitty dating apps. I’m very capable of finding someone in real life for your information!” You quickly retort as a means to defend yourself. Even though she did have a point, her delivery could’ve been a little bit nicer.

It’s not easy being a hopeless romantic, you can’t help but yearn for that special someone to enter your life and change it for the better. You won’t feel wholly satisfied nor complete until you do. The sad reality of the matter was that you are still painfully single. No one’s interesting enough to cease your attention, let alone go on any actual dates. Areum’s had enough of your bitching and whining though, there’s only so many rants and tirades she can keep listening to about your vicious hatred for men before she loses it completely. Your nonexistent love life has become more of a nuisance as that time of year approaches— Valentine’s Day. A god forsaken holiday you’ve always loathed with a passion. Wanting nothing more than to be one of those girls on the receiving end getting flowers and chocolates. A day full of the utmost joy and pleasant surprises from your loving significant other.

Must be nice..

Speaking of surprises.. The buzzing in your ear echoes from your phone pinging loudly, indefinitely startling you. Grabbing it to check the sudden notification, your eyes go absurdly wide at the contact name displayed on your screen. Blinking numerous times from shock, you stare at your phone in incredulity; making sure your eyes weren’t playing tricks on you.

Lee Minho. The Lee Minho?

What kind of sorcery is being conjured where the instant you bring him up, he somehow texts you after all these years of not speaking? This coincidence was more than unsettling to you. A part of your inner thoughts still believes this is all some elaborate joke being played on you, waiting for a cameraman to pop out of some curtain to announce you’ve just been pranked. But nothing happens, life proceeds as normal. Now you’re left with the most puzzling notification you might’ve ever received.

It was your last year of college and the pressure of your academics along with appeasing your family was getting to you immensely. You needed an escape from all of it, desperately. Which you found through none other than Lee Minho, the boy who worked as a barista at Cozmo’s; this coffee shop you used to frequent a lot. It was a cute, small family-owned establishment and they made the best matcha lattes— in your humble opinion. You’d pick one up almost every day along with a slice of freshly baked cinnamon bread. It started off as only playful banter with him in the beginning, then it lead to more as time went on. One day, as you reached out to pay he blocked your hand from moving any closer, letting you freely walk away without spending a dime. This soon became a regular occurrence, as you’d start seeing Minho outside of work, getting to know more and more about him. You remember so desperately wanting to date back then, pitying your past self for thinking there was even a chance.

‘Maybe he’s just texted the wrong person’ you psyche yourself into thinking, but when you unlock your phone to finally read the message — an uncomfortable lump forms in the pit of your throat.

Minho 🐈:

Hey is this still ___’s number?

You honestly don’t know why you still have his number saved, let alone allowing a whole emoji to be next to it. Though it never was like you to delete anything, no matter how painful it may have been. More lingering questions makes you want to seek out the possible solutions. Why would he text you of all people ? None of this adds up in your mind realistically. Furrowing your brows in concentration, you think of what to say as you draft out a response.

Yes… who’s this?

After a tedious struggle of typing out multiple paragraphs and immediately deleting them, you went over your words a few more times before sending a final reply. It would’ve been strange had you knew exactly who he was off the bat, that’ll just be dead giveaway you still had his contact info saved this whole time. But with that logic, doesn’t that make Minho just as odd for still keeping your number after all this time has passed?

Your phone dings again.

Minho 🐈:

Srsly -_-

Did you really delete my number??

Bet he didn’t see that one coming. He probably thought the moment he texts you, you were gonna kiss up to him like you’ve always done in the past. Mentally giggling to yourself at the image of him getting flustered by you not knowing who he was at first. Feels good to know you knocked his confidence down a peg.

Lol, chillax.. I know it’s you Minho :P

Not even a minute later, a flood of incoming messages appear. Biting your lip out of nervousness, your heart couldn’t stop beating so fast— anxiously checking your phone as the atmosphere around you suddenly gets stuffier.

Minho 🐈:

Better be lucky I didn’t block you after that ㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋ

Guess who’s back in the city btw. Did ya miss me? ;)

No need to answer that, I already know you did. You should stop by at Cozmo’s again sometime!

Also what’re you up to this week? I need you to clear out all your plans because I’m taking you out on a date.

You always knew Minho was the bold type but this was on another level. The sheer audacity he has to even ask something like this after not reaching out for almost 3 years was more than ballsy on his part. It felt like a surge of butterflies erupting in your stomach, getting lightheaded as you think about seeing him again. He really had an effect on you like no other.

Glancing up from your screen to finally pay attention to Areum again, you assure her everything’s going to be just fine. “Looks like I won’t be needing to download Tinder after all.”

Later on that day you ended up going to Cozmo’s and meeting up with Minho. It never really took much convincing from him to get you to budge, though it was a hell of a lot worse back then. You used to blindly follow along with anything he said just to seek his approval, hoping that eventually he’ll see you as the girl he wants to settle down with. Alas, nothing ever blossomed into something more, and you knew deep down that this was headed nowhere— but that still didn’t stop you from fantasizing about a future with him. Getting lost into deep thought, head heavy in the clouds as you imagine the idea of Minho confessing his undying love for you. You’ll be so caught off guard as he gets down on one knee, looking at you with the entire solar system in eyes while he proposes in the most charming way. It really is pitiful how much you still daydream about a guy who wasn’t your boyfriend but would constantly act like he was, then up and leaves without mentioning a single word about it.

You convinced yourself he ran off with someone else to have a better life with, even hearing through town gossip that he’s moved to South Korea to pursue becoming an idol. Whatever the case may be it still weighed heavily on your mind that he never bothered to tell you anything, even a simple ‘goodbye’ would’ve sufficed the empty hole in your heart. The main reason you agreed on meeting up with Minho was to finally ask, why? Why did he pretend to like you? Why did he act like your boyfriend when he never had intentions on seriously dating? Why was he so good at making you fall so hard for him..?

“You look great.” You subconsciously blurt out, affixed in a daze as you stare in awe at the man in front of you.

It’s been a while since you came here— never able to fully bring yourself to try and go back. Though you knew this place first, and they really did have the best Mactha lattes in the universe. It reminded you too much of him and you sadly had to let it go.

You weren’t proud of it but you did go home quickly to change clothes and redo your makeup. Usually you wouldn’t care but this was the only guy you’ve been consistently crushing on for years, you had to feel good inside and out. Minho was just as gorgeous as you remembered, if not he looked even more ethereal — which seemed impossible in itself already. He’s grown up so beautifully, his facial features became more sharp, especially his jawline which looks so defined and sculpted by the Gods.

Minho lightly chuckles at your timidness, some things just never change. “You look way better.” His lips drew into a faint smirk as he admires your presence.

He meant every word of what he said, you looked really good, and it was making him even more frustrated that so much time has passed. Regretting the way he handled things so many years ago, wishing he could take it all back and do everything differently. Seeing you again made it easier for Minho to suppress the guilt he’s borne for so long. This moment feels like a second chance to make amends for his past mistakes.

You couldn’t help but blush when you hear his compliment, feeling your ears grow hot as you look at the ground. There was a silent pause between you that lasted for what seemed like ages. Weirdly enough the conversation flowed well after he finally broke the awkwardness, the chemistry was overall still there and were able to pick up right where it left off.

“I’m so glad you came ___, I’ve been dying to see you since I got here. I’m surprised you even still responded to my lame ass.”

Minho’s light confession puzzles you. If he really was dying to see you, why’d he wait so long to get in contact with you? To be fair, you don’t know the exact time he came back.

“Oh, is that so? When’d you come back? Also show me pics of Korea, I’ve always wanted to know what it’s like there.” You fondly inquire, leaning against the side of the wall as he’s still behind the counter. He mentioned to you he’s only working part time because his parents would rather mooch off their son for free labor than to hire and pay a new employee.

“Yesterday,” he quickly states before taking out his phone to scroll through his gallery, “guess my sister must’ve told you I went there huh?”

You shook your head, “Nah, I haven’t talked to Elle in a while. She’s tried hitting me up a few times though.. but I found out through Areum ‘cause she was seeing Hoseok back then.”

They were definitely “seeing” each other alright, but mostly in the bedroom. Areum didn’t want anything exclusive with Hoseok and neither did he, it was the perfect friends with benefits situation. Minho and Hoseok were good friends who’ve known each other for a while, so naturally he’d tell Areum everything and overshare at some point.

“Agh, there’s a customer gotta take this. One sec, sorry!” He briefly apologizes before bringing his attention to the new person heading inside. You nod, signaling he’s good to go. “I’ll be waiting over there,” you point to a small wooden table with 2 chairs in a corner.

Once Minho comes back you notice he’s no longer wearing his purple work apron; back in his regular attire now and sporting an oversized dark grey hoodie that was three times too big. He was holding a large cup with green liquid and a paper bag in his hand, that’s when it clicks for you— he still remembers your favorite meal.

He’s grinning the whole time he’s handing you the matcha latte and cinnamon pastry, smiling from ear to ear like a kid on Christmas Day. This was the most you’ve seen him be so enthusiastic about something, even back when you were “with” him you can’t recall him beaming with such energy like this.

“Awh, thank you. I haven’t had either one of these in years!” You wanted to give him the biggest hug but you refrained from doing so, feeling as though it may be too early for that.

“Of course dear, anything for you.”

Why does everything he says have to make you melt from the inside out? It’s not fair! >:(

Glancing down at your yummy beverage, you see a message written on the side of the glass with bold permanent sharpie. Tilting your head to read it, the words are bit jumbled together but you get the gist. You’re almost left speechless after it reads: ‘___, Will you be my valentine?’

Your most dreaded and least favorite holiday is here, yippee! But, there’s a twist on this year’s turn of events; you actually have someone to celebrate this wretched tradition with. You should be excited but all you’re feeling is the sudden urge to vomit as you were nervous out of your mind. This was kind of weird to you, going on a date with your ex boyfriend who was never even your real boyfriend. Looking back on it now you shouldn’t have tolerated a relationship dynamic like that, Minho was clearly taking advantage of your passiveness by not explicitly saying what he wanted. On the contrary, you had no one to blame but yourself, you never spoke up or criticized anything even if it didn’t coincide with your personal morals.

The fact he never took you on an actual date until now speaks volumes, you obviously didn’t have enough self worth back to demand better treatment. It took you years of figuring out what a real, healthy relationship is supposed to be like through trials of therapy and that was an emotional rollercoaster in itself. All your uncertainties soon faded away once you became more secure and knew exactly what you wanted for yourself. It took every ounce of patience and acceptance to unlearn all your bad coping mechanisms and other toxic behaviors that were only stunting your inner growth. You’re happy to be in a position now where you’re able to express wholeheartedly what you deserve, it’s the best feeling ever to feel like you’re in control of your own life.

You spent almost 3 hours getting ready and your bedroom now looked like a war zone. The outfit you chose was super girly, a frilly white dress with pink platform heels— Minho’s going to drool in amazement when he sees you. When you sent Areum photos of you before heading out, she responds right way with a series of hearts and other sweet comments— hyping you up to no end like the best friend she is. She’s also able to help pull you out of your doubtful headspace, when you felt unsure if you could really go through with this she quickly psyched you out of it. Reminding you exactly who you are and why you are the prize, not him. ‘He should be the one who’s nervous, not the other way around’ you assure yourself over and over as a mini ego boost.

His jaw dropped when he spotted you walking up to his car, infatuated by how pretty and perfect you looked in every way possible. It angers him so much to know he took all this for granted, he didn’t appreciate all of you the way he should’ve but now he gets another chance to redo everything and right his wrongs. It’s a lot of pressure but he bravely accepts it, he could never mess up another opportunity like this again. The car ride was fairly silent in the beginning, you were vibing in peace as the only thing you could hear was Minho’s soft indie playlist as background music.

You ultimately chose to be the one to speak first, breaking the ice with a simple inquiry about the date. “So where are we going?” Looking out at the scenery from the window, all you is trees and more trees. If it’s something to do with nature you surely don’t want any parts of it, you’ve never been too fond of the wilderness.

“It’s a surprise, I can’t tell you.” He keeps a tight seal on today’s destination without dropping a single hint, forcing you to go completely blind into this. As he goes back to focus on the road, you sigh anxiously after hearing him refuse to disclose anything.

Did he seriously forget what kind of person you are? Anyone who’s close to you at all knows you’ve never been into those types of things. Ever.

“You know I hate surprises Minho,” you remind him, attempting to pry for more information. Even shooting him a doe eyed look along with poking out your bottom lip, but he doesn’t falter.

He simply nods, “I know but you’ll like this one, just have a little bit of faith me.” Flashing an innocent smile at you, he seems to be overly confident in whatever his plan consists of.

After almost half an hour passes the car finally comes to a stop, you scan the area and instantly notice a sense of familiarity among the place. Across from you was an ice cream parlor you thought didn’t exist anymore. But there it is, still standing with dozens of customers waiting in line. The small shop was famously known for its fish-shaped ice cream cones, you’ve always wanted to visit the place and try it when you were a little from seeing it on TV all the time. When you told Minho about it, you said how your parents would say it was too far but it actually closed down and they didn’t know how to tell you. From time to time you’d still think about that place, but you would’ve never thought they relocated. Being here with Minho brings an indescribable amount of happiness to your spirit.

“I mentioned this place like one time in passing, how’d you even remember?” You wonder in amazement, after all these years he still remembers something as minuscule as this.

“It may not have seemed like it but I paid attention to every little detail you told me ___, all it. Of course I know you don’t like surprises but how else would I have been able to take you here?” He sweetly expresses to you, not wanting to hold back anymore.

You wanted to cry right here, right now. All your emotions came crashing down at once and it’s hard to keep them concealed. A lot has changed within these years, things feel so different with him now, especially with how much he’s matured. You notice how he doesn’t act like the typical fuckboy in his early 20’s anymore, he’s much more interested in getting to know only person — that being you.

“I’ve rehearsed this in my head like a million times and I don’t think I’ll ever say it the right way I want but it’s time I start being as transparent as possible with you…” Minho takes a deep breath before continuing, “I’ve always liked you ___, from the start actually,” he keeps going, “I was just scared, of what I don’t know.. Commitment maybe?”

Slightly looking in another direction, your vision faintly blurs from tears welling up, “I- I honestly don’t know what to say..”

“Then don’t say anything at all, I don’t need you to. I may not know the first thing about how to love someone, but I want to learn all of it with you.” He feels all the remorse of leaving you alone for all these years, unable to process the pain you must’ve endured at him not getting into contact with you. “I’m so sorry ___. For everything, I’m going to make it all better I promise.”

Your eyes subconsciously flutter shut when he comes in contact with you. Connecting in perfect symmetry with your lips to sync together in motion. His gentle hands cupped your face delicately; his touch was so warm and inviting. Your fingers were deeply tangled in his brunette locks, relishing every minute as he tilts his head to capture more of you. He genuinely couldn’t believe he went this long without kissing these luscious lips again. His tongue grazed the bottom of your lip to subtly ask for entry and you comply. Dopamine floods both your senses like a series of fireworks going off, feeling intoxicated by each other’s taste. It was probably that vanilla bean chapstick you always wore— an old favorite of his and is still your go-to flavor of choice. He wanted to savor you in this moment for as long as he could, cherish the fact he has you in his hold again.

“Want to know something funny?” He asks out of nowhere, still smirking from that heated kiss that just happened seconds ago.

“Hm?”

“You’re the reason I ended up coming back here.” Minho states bluntly, no hesitation detected in his voice whatsoever.

You struggle to comprehend anything, overwhelmed by all his sudden confessions. “What do you mean?”

“I mean I never want to leave your side ever again ___. I’m staying here with you, I already made the biggest mistake of losing you once I can’t let the same thing happen twice.” He spoke tenderly from the bottom of his heart, it felt so genuine you couldn’t not believe him.

Going back to rewind time isn’t possible, but “do-over’s�� are, and sometimes we’re able to get those second chances to make things right when we get them wrong the first time.

[End <3].

[fyxestroll]

Calm Before the Storm

pairing: fulgrim x reader (fem.)

description: high society is relentless when it comes to rumors but baseless as they may be they still contain grains of truth. but what happens when even you are still unsure of the nature of your relationship

warnings: minor character death, bird poop (do i need to put this as a warning), reader has a last name

notes: fulgrim brain worms fulgrim... fulgrim save me.. pre-heresy btw. this is mostly self indulgent btw so sorry if its a bit messy. not my best work but I need to pine for fulgrim in a vague late 19th-century setting shoutout to @yagodnyizefir for sharing the brainrot w/ me

The rumors began with a gift, a bouquet of masterfully crafted ceremite flowers resembling those from your home planet. The whispers were neither about the craftsmanship nor your decision to display it in the drawing room, it was about the colors. The choice of the flowers alone would have already been considered odd but it was colors that truly sparked scandal.

 In the flower language, a combination of those flowers in those colors, the reds, pinks, yellows and whites roughly translated to ‘My love for you is deep and true.’. 

In other words, this is a courting gift. 

Primarch Fulgrim is courting you.

Well, that’s what people think. In reality, this is nothing more than a case of cultural differences, a common occurrence within your world as of late. There are countless worlds under the banner of ever-expanding The Imperium of Mankind and someone of his rank has no time to learn all of the norms of a single system’s high society. The Primarch Fulgrim is nothing more than a dear friend and fellow connoisseur of the arts. 

Opulent gifts from him are common and he did not intend the meaning of that bouquet, truly.

But if you said that high society will not believe you, no one will. At this point, the rumors have taken a life of their own turning you into a villain, a temptress or a poor maiden in the same week. 

However, it cannot be said that you aren’t partially at fault.

High society fed off rumors and you, in all honesty, have done nothing to quell them. You continued to accompany the Primarch at events, accept his gifts and say nothing in light of the rumors assuming that high society would move on to the latest gossip.

You had assumed wrong.

And now you are paying the price.

The Purple Ribbon: The Long-Standing Affair Between the Primarch Fulgrim & Lady Dittersdorf

You slam the data slate down onto the table and place a hand on your temple, rubbing circles on it as you feel the oncoming headache.

Of course, they wouldn’t move on. Gossip is the life-blood of aristocratic social circles and what gossip was juicier than a supposedly illicit affair between a Primarch and heiress to one of the system’s oldest noble houses? Nothing! 

The story of the affair has already spread far and wide so there’s nothing more you can do other than watch as high society tears your reputation to shreds. Like it or not you’ve become high society’s latest clown just like your brother.

The rumors may have begun with the gift but the true start of this madness was your first meeting with the Primarch…

“Is this another one of the late Lord Bertham’s works?”

“Yes, my lord.”

On your end, the silence that falls between you is uncomfortable. This is nothing new, there are only a few things deemed proper that you could talk to a lady in mourning about. Though you’ve completed the acceptable mourning period it felt wrong not to display grief in an event such as this.

“You are his sister, correct?” He asks.

You look up to nod at the guest, keen on not saying ‘Yes, my Lord’ twice. It’s also an excuse to see his face. Though, with the literal shadow cast over you, you did not need to know this guest's identity. 

“My condolences Lady Dittersdorf.” 

“Thank you,” It’s common courtesy to say those four words and at this point after two years of mourning, you’ve grown tired of hearing them. Still, you could appreciate his tone. He seemed genuine. 

Lord Fulgrim returns to appreciate the painting, bending his knees ever so slightly as he does so. While most of the paintings on display today have been adjusted to a height where the Primarch and his legionnaires could view the art comfortably this piece is one of the few exceptions due to the size of its canvas.

“This is one of Bertham’s earliest works,” you explain to the Primarch gaining the courage to speak.

“Ah, that explains it,” lord Fulgrim gazes down at you kindly, “I could not put my hand on what made it different from his other works.”

Your hand caresses the frame, “He made this when he was fourteen or so and had yet to develop his preference for giant canvases.”

“It’s amazing how even then he had already developed his unique art style at that age.”

“Yes,” you agree, observing the delicate brush strokes, “he was a prodigy but we did not know it at the time. All we knew was that he was a boy who loved to paint.”

“I see…” 

Your gloved thumb runs over a stray stroke of dark green. You had placed that single stroke there as a child wanting to do what her brother was doing too. Bertham was so mad that when he saw what you did he chased you all over the manor. You expected him to paint over what you did, to erase that ‘mistake’, turns out he didn’t.

Stars, he didn’t

“Lady Dittersdorf,”

“Yes?”

“Do you paint too?”

Surprise colors your face at the Primarch’s question, “I…do.”

“Then I’d like to see your pieces one day.”

You break eye contact, unfurling the fan in your hands and covering your face with it. “My works are of an amateur’s my Lord.”

He simply smiles and replies, “That’s fine.”

…even so, you would not have wished for it to have gone any other way. You’ve gained a companion in the Phoenician, your first true friend since you’ve cast away your mourning clothes.

Sometimes though, you start to believe it could be something else, something more…

“Stop!” You exclaim, laughing as you do, “Let go!”

“No!” He grins, tightening his hold on your waist, “You’ll fall!”

“I!” you swat at his hand, your hair whipping around everywhere having escaped the confines of your bun, “Won't!”

“Still!” 

Fulgrim had a point, you know that. The skirts you wear would act as a sail and blow you away the second he releases you but…

“Please?”

One look from you and he falters, the hand on your waist loosening its grip.

A strong gust of wind blows and for a moment you feel yourself float. 

But that moment was over before you had even realised it. The hands holding you are shaking, confused, you look down at the Primarch holding you steady on your perch. “Fulgrim?”

“I–” He chokes on his words, worry filling his eyes. The golden sun shines down on his silver locks as they get blown around by the wind.

‘Beautiful,’ you can’t help but think.

He cups your cheek. The sensation is new, odd but you don’t hate it. “I’m alright,” you say, leaning into his touch. 

The wind is cool, the bustle of the city is distant and there was no one else here but the two of you. Losing track of time you don’t know how long he held you, how long you stared at each other's eyes until your lips were on his.

…but you knew better than to hope. You’ve never talked about the kiss and you doubt you ever will. That moment will forever be a secret kept between the two of you.

You know it would be better to cut ties with the Primarch and use the excuse of him being off-system most of the time causing your friendship to wane.

But you just can’t.

Be it by stubbornness or attraction, you just can’t.

So you will carry on with your life head held high and ignoring the whispers.

Today, the sky is clear and while it was still cool out you’ve decided to spend some time in the garden to clear your mind. The flowers are as beautiful as ever but the fountain—

Plop!

A splash of white falls on your dress. It stands out against the maroon fabric and you realized its poop, bird poop to be exact. 

You can’t help but let out a smile at the absurdity of the situation. Perhaps the rumors aren’t your biggest worry currently. Taking out your handkerchief you begin to wipe away the stain before it can completely ruin the fabric

* * *

Unbeknownst to you, a figure in the bushes takes a pict.

Later that evening an article will be published within the Noosphere titled Expect the Unexpected! Lady Ditterstorf Pregnant! Alongside it is a pict of you standing in the gardens with a hand seemingly cradling your belly.

[fairlyang]

Amor Prohibido 🕷️

a west side story au

w/c: 2.9K

pairing: miguel o’hara x latina!reader

tags: 18+ smut. opposite gangs, forbidden love, not caring x2, cunnilingus, dirty talk, fingering, español (era necesario), he’s a sweetie, masquerade dance, chino is a opp, double reveal but they’re all pissed, you don’t care and leave, car sex, voyuerism, unprotected sex, riding, sweet ending

taglist: @reader-1290

smutmas masterlist | main masterlist

you were supposed to stay away from him. your older brother had always scolded you about only going out with one of your own. didn't have to be your exact ethnicity but they had to be latino, not any of the white guys.

you found that to be harder than expected. mainly because you didn't really care for his rules. you were always a rebellious kid and sister so now being in your early twenties that didn't exactly change.

so he continued to repeat that after you've only been in the states for less than two years, you knew you'd be in trouble.

at least that’s what you thought until you found someone that maybe you could cheat this system with. Miguel O’Hara was half irish and half mexican, with tanned skin, dark slicked back hair, and a thick accent to match.

his dad was a rich man, married a mexican woman so that’s why he was able to be in the jett’s, because they ignored the mexican half. he wasn’t exactly like the rest of them, openly hating on any and all latinos who come into the city because he’s seen firsthand how his mom was treated.

he was kind, thoughtful, and sweet. everything you’ve ever wanted in a man so your brother would just have to deal with it.

he was the man of your dreams, but of course there was a downside, probably the worst one, yet that wasn’t enough to put him off you or vice versa.

being the all too rebellious girl you were, you freely were sneaking back and forth with the second in command of the rival gang opposite your brother's and you didn't care too much about it. especially not when he was between your thighs, eating you out like he hasn't had a proper meal in years which was ironic because he never misses a meal, let alone his dessert.

his mouth was sucking and flicking your clit while he pumped two fingers inside you. he always took great care of you, making sure you don't go a day without a proper orgasm.

the worst part was that you let him.

you really couldn't help it, not when he was making you moan so loud and feel so good that you could practically see stars. it was to no surprise that you couldn't push his advances away, even if you tried he’d just convince you anyway.

he pulled away for a few seconds just to tease you because it always had you squirming, clenching tightly against his fingers, "like that baby?"

you could only nod your head, feeling too good to give him a proper answer. he didn't accept that though. he needed to hear you, especially if it was in your native tongue.

"tell me how much you like it, pretty girl.." he murmured, looking up at you with those pretty brown eyes while you just pouted.

"mucho- p-please dont stop." you whined, reaching down for his head so he can keep working his magic. (so much-)

"eager girl... you know you shouldn't even be with me but here you are, desperate and aching for me.. so fucking dirty, mi amor." he teased only making you whimper, especially at his usage of such an endearing word. (my love)

given every pet name that slipped past his lips had you like a lovesick fool but still, you were losing it even more, "fuck miguel- por favor- i n-need more!" you whined once more, bringing a grin to his face. (please-)

“pues porque me lo pediste así…. como no, hermosa?” he says under his breath before going straight back in to suck on your clit. (well since you asked like that… how could i not, beautiful)

you gasped and brought a hand down to his hair, tugging on it making him groan against you. it sent shivers all over your body and made his pants feel even tighter.

he loved the forbiddenness of your situation. knowing you shouldn't be doing this, from either side but not being able to help yourselves. he was just, if not more obsessed with you which said a lot.

he closed his eyes and focused on the sweet taste of your arousal, always so fucking good like an ice cream sundae down at the diner. sadly he couldn't take you on any proper dates because it would be odd to others and you didn't want miguel to get into any trouble. have it be by riff, bernardo, or his parole officer.

so he would close up shop early for his boss, who was an elderly puerto rican lady named valentina. definitely accepting of your relationship and having grown very fond of miguel, like a son, of course she was going to help him sneak you in. also given the fact he was on parole and this was now his home, he didn't have much of a choice anyway.

he brought his left hand up to your body, first to squeeze your left breast just earning himself the sweetest gasp from you, then you decided to grab his hand and intertwine your fingers together. his face flushed and he felt his heart beat faster, your eyes were on his and he was determined to make you come in his mouth.

he stopped for a split second just to add a third finger then he pumped her fingers faster and harder than before. you squeezed his hand tightly prompting him to do it right back while you quickly felt yourself getting closer to the edge.

“miguel! fuck- por favor- no pares-“ you moaned and grind your hips up desperately. (please- don’t stop-)

he moaned against you, practically grinding against the mattress while pumping his fingers as fast as he could. your walls entrapped them and he started curling them up to hit your sweet spot, purposely knowing you’ll come faster.

he pulled away for a few seconds just to egg you on, “gonna come for me baby? sabiendo que ni debes hablar conmigo?” (knowing you aren’t even be talking to me?)

“fuck miguel! si, claro que si-“ you cried and felt your legs start to shake.. (yes, of course yes-)

“así, mi amor, así.” he cooed softly, eye back on yours, “come on baby.” (just like that)

his sweet tone was enough to send you over the edge, gripping his hand tightly while you cried out for him. he kissed your inner thigh, slowed down his fingers, and giving you more praise while you rode out your high.

you closed your eyes and clamped your legs shut, feeling so overstimulated. he slowly slipped his fingers out, a loud plop filling your ears as you covered your face with both hands. you could hear his chuckle and his shuffling as you calmed yourself down.

suddenly you feel his arms wrap around you, pulling you towards his chest and you weren’t going to deny a nice cuddle. you laid your head on his chest, swinging an arm over his body while you listened to his heart beat.

there was something about the aftermath that just made this more real and loving. you didn’t know how your future would look but there was no way in hell you’re letting something this good, go to waste or into hands that already had a turn.

the following weekend there was a masquerade dance being held at the gym in the rec center and miguel wanted to be introduced as your boyfriend knowing damn well that could be the cause of world war three. but he didn’t really give a fuck, willing to fight for your love and more importantly, end this dumb terf war between both the gangs.

the dress code was black and white, just so everyone would be somewhat the same. the lights were flashing so it was easy for you to sneak in with miguel.

you were both wearing black masks that had white designs on them. you in a black swing dress that anita made for you, off the shoulder with white pearls along the edges. perfect for the occasion.

miguel was in the nicest pair of pants, borrowed from his father as well as a black button up shirt.

he was looking around the dance floor, watching how each group was in their respective half and dancing their hearts out. neither of you have both seen and since the city decided to go all out for this dance to make everyone get alone, the lights were still going crazy.

he took his arm off your waist and held his hand out to you which you happily took. he led you to the middle of the floor and it was an upbeat song, so he grabbed your hands and you began dancing together.

you followed his lead and moved in sync with him and everyone else around you. your dress moved beautifully, miguel twirling you as much as possible to keep that smile on your face.

you moved back and forth between both sides of the dance floor, not wanting to stick to just one side in case you were to get caught that easily. it wasn’t so strange since most people by the middle were doing that anyway.

there were a couple people on the sidelines just watching, either because they can’t dance or they don’t have dates. singletons from both gangs but no shark was going to take a latina out to dance or vice versa, knowing they’d get a beating right then and there.

the song changed to a slower one so you adjusted accordingly with your arms around his neck while his were on your waist. you swayed back and forth slowly, staring into each other's eyes and ignoring everything else.

you felt happy being able to do this. and sure it was mainly due to the fact that everyone was wearing masks and you could barely even see the person next to you but still. you had the man you adored the most out in public like this and it was all you could’ve asked for.

you sighed and gave him a loving smile, taking a step closer to place your head against his chest. you danced slowly now taking one of his hands and sticking it outwards while he held your other hand by his chest.

it was a sweet and pure moment. what was once such a rarity in your life and now was slowly becoming something you needed to have every day. not at all afraid for the future, at least not now that his arms are around you. it was warm and protective, like nothing bad could happen when you were like this.

but unfortunately that wasn’t the reality you were living in.

anita was the first to notice you, not thinking anything of it until she realized the man you were dancing with wasn’t chino and she had to stop herself from gasping out loud. the second to notice was riff’s girlfriend, graziella, whose eyes went wide when she looked past riff’s shoulder to find miguel with bernardo’s sister of all the girls.

they both kept their mouths shut, hell even leading their men away from that part of the dance floor just to save all parties from a potential disaster. you didn’t even notice, not a single clue the jig was almost up but saved by the two girls.

that quickly changed when you decided to just take a look around the dance floor, moving your head up to take a better peak while miguel swayed you both. your eyes scanned all the couples in their fancy attire and dark masks but suddenly stopped at one guy standing still on the sidelines, eyes already on yours.

your eyes grew wide and your heart started racing, you shook your head against miguel, praying to god that chino won’t say a word.

you watched him carefully, almost unable to move because your nerves were getting the better of you. “por favor.” you mouthed to him and he just slowly shook his head. (please)

he started walking to the left side of the floor, you quickly looked over, trying to find your brother and anita. your eyes followed chino and you looked to where he was walking and you knew your fun was over.

you looked away, gaze back on miguel and leaned towards his ear, “we’ve gotta go.”

he looked down at you, noticing your nervous expression, and nodding. he let go of you, quickly grabbing your hand and leading you out. he pushed past bodies, not caring for the grunts and swears of his own friends.

they luckily didn’t even notice it was him, otherwise he’d have another problem on his hands. he led you out of the main exit, quickly walking to the parking lot to his car. the cold air hit you but before you could even react to it you heard someone yell your name behind you.

the all too familiar voice had you gulp and walk faster while miguel squeezed your hand, trying to make you feel better, “todo va estar bien, okay?” (everything’s gonna be fine)

you nodded and then heard yelling behind you, anita’s voice filling your ears as she begged bernardo to leave you alone. you could hear them argue like they usually did when you finally got to miguel’s car. he unlocked and opened your door when suddenly the side door bursts open and out comes riff with graziella laughing.

you had one foot about to go inside when riff just blinks at the sight in front of him. you stayed silent, not having anything to say while miguel urged you to get inside the car. “miguel please- let’s just go, anywhere but here.” you pleaded and he just nodded but his eyes were on his best friend’s.

riff was now scoffing, shaking his head in disbelief and disapproval while miguel helped you inside. he closed your door shut and walked behind the car to get to his seat just so he didn’t have to get even closer to riff. he stopped before getting inside, giving him the chance to say something to him.

riff was baffled, stun locked, and disappointed. this felt like a stab in the back to him, towards the sharks and everything they stood for.

but his definition was always different to miguel’s, he just never considered that fact.

finally he was able to speak up, “i can’t believe you.”

miguel sighed and stopped him from even starting a rant, “well believe it because i’m done pretending to be something i’m not. i can’t live like that anymore and you better fucking believe that i’m marrying this girl one day.”

your face grew warm and your heart started pounding, his honest words sounding like a declaration and in front of his best friend just made it all the more real and serious.

he gave him one final look before going inside and starting the engine. you took a deep breath and looked to the right to see bernardo and anita walking over. she gave you a sympathetic smile and your brother’s was better than before.

you gulped and rolled the window down, speechless at first before thinking of the right thing to say, “perdóname, hermano. es mejor pedir perdón que pedir permiso.. encontré un amor verdadero y bonito, espero que lo entiendas.” (forgive me, brother. it’s better to ask for forgiveness than to ask for permission.. i found a love so real and so beautiful, i hope you’ll understand)

he sighed and nodded, unable to speak because it felt so surreal. instead anita spoke, “ felicidades, mi niña” (congratulations, my girl)

you smiled at her and miguel finally pulled out and slowly drove away leaving behind your loved ones conflicted and confused.

as soon as you were far and hidden enough you both jumped to the backseat. such strong comments towards your family’s brought an energy you never felt before. an even better and stronger pull towards miguel, one that had you feeling extra grateful from him and more affectionate.

it took little to no convincing for you to ride him. you had been riding him fast, eager and ready to please while making out. hands touching anything and groping, squeezing gently as you bounced your ass up and down like you have before.

only now was he started to thrust his hips upwards as you slammed down, making sure to hit your sweet spot every time. you tried your hardest to keep up with him but he never made it easy on you, even when you were trying to do something for him.

his hands were gripping your hips, squeezing your flesh while he helped you fuck yourself harder on his cock, desperately wanting to come already. neither of you were in any mood to take it slow, just wanting it to be as passionately fast as possible.

his praise against your lips filled your ears, making you moan against him while he just continued kissing you. he kept repeating his promising words of forever, making sure you wouldn’t forget them.

aunque todavía tuvieron un amor prohibido, se sentía como si ahora nada de todo mundo los puede detener. (although you still had a forbidden love, it felt like now, nothing in the world could stop you now)

como si todo este tiempo podían estar así sin importar lo que digan los demás. (as if all this time you could’ve been like this without caring what anyone else says)

but at last, you could do that now anyway and there was no one that could come between the sweetest of love you’ve ever felt with the absolute man of your dreams.

[nxlx96]

The Boy Saviour - Oscar Piastri x Reader (she/her)

Hi, this is my first time writing x reader, and the idea came to me at 3am a few nights ago while i was trying to sleep and hasn't left me live ever since. This is also my first time posting on tumblr so bear the simple format.

Trigger Warning: Non-consensual drug use, as in, reader gets roofied in a bar (Not by any named character nor any of the drivers, so rest assured on that sense). There is also recreational alcohol consumption and a bit of off-camera violence.

WC: 8381

Also, this is more of a pre-slash story rather than a romantic one. That's all I have to say, I'll shut up and let you read.

Please let me know what you think!

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · · 𖥸 · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Post race driver parties are not an uncommon thing, although it is much more frequent in the European leg of the season; when everyone is in the same country or near enough they don’t care for a few hours of commute -Today's crowd was composed of Charles, Oscar, Max, Lando, Alex, George, Pierre, Carlos and as a star guest, Daniel-. These parties were often the perfect way to try and unwind from the pressure of the season and to smooth out whatever incidents happened on track. A few passive aggressive interchanges, three shots and everyone’s usually back to laughing and buzzing along.

Tonight they had followed Charles’ recommendation and gone to a club in the more residential area of Monaco, away from the yacht club and the casino. It was still tightly packed with people dancing on the dancefloor and the bar was busy as the drinks kept on coming, but the people there didn't care much for them and they were able to enjoy themselves without worrying about having too many eyes on them.

They had a booth in the second floor alcove, allowing them an almost full view of the dance floor if anyone cared to look down, but they were too busy roughhousing and laughing. She’d gotten used to it, of course, having grown as a girl in motorsports it’s simply part of the package. But sometimes she still needed a break when they were behaving like that, because while they recognise her as a proper rival, a true competitor despite gender bias, being drunk they sometimes forget they have size and strength to their favour while having their fun, and their brawling and heavy shoulder slaps felt a tiny bit too annoying while tipsy. Overwhelming.

So she excuses herself to the bar, shaking the glass that now only tinkers with half melted ice cubes. She gets a few nods and a stray thumbs up but the chatter continues like before.

The layout of the club had the bar as the centerpiece gemstone, the first thing you see when you come though the main entrance across from the massive dance floor. The dance floor’s design is full of different height platforms, similar to those at Jimmy Z. Their booth on the second floor has a perfect view of all the first floor, except for the public entrance, which is right underneath it.

Coming down the stairs, she followed the platforms' paths that led her to the bar once again, choosing a stool to sit and wait for the bartenders to take her order. 

On the wall to her left, the DJ booth rises itself over all the platforms in its own little block, colored lights sprouting from the base towards the right of it, in the corner between the bar and the DJ there is the smaller door they were escorted through, directly from the parking lot behind the establishment. On the opposite wall there's a hallway that leads to what she assumes are the bathrooms, judging by the long queue of women she can see standing in the hallway.

A tap on the countertop brings her attention back. The bartender asks for her order in French, and her basic understanding of the language allows her to order a raspberry mojito without spluttering too much. A sweet enough concoction to help smooth out the straight Vodka shots they downed back at the table. 

In no time, a new clear plastic cup was placed in front of her. A tall cup full to the brim with rum and sparkly water. A mix of raspberry puree, lemon and mint sitting at the bottom. She grabs the straw and starts mixing the cocktail, but the ice floating on top, and the decorative mint leaves that float at the top threaten to overflow the cup when she does, so she has to take another bitter sip of almost pure liquor before actually enjoying the sweetness.

She rested her elbow on the bartop and her chin in her hand, alternating between swaying to the music, looking at the bartenders preparing fancy and complicated cocktails and looking around the crowd dancing on the floor. It wasn’t exactly a quiet place, but it did provide respite from the boys’ rowdiness. Occasionally there would be people who sat in the barstools next to her. Some of them made some sort of small talk while waiting for their drinks to be ready, but no one lingered in her space for too long, allowing her to unwind on her own.

♩ ♪ ♫ ♬ ♭ ♩ ♪ ♫ ♬ ♭ ♩ ♪ ♫ ♬ ♭ 

As a woman in life, you learn to know when to follow your instincts. Call it bad omen, gut feeling or sixth sense. Sometimes you subconsciously register danger before you see or hear something. In this case, she felt a tight coil in her stomach -looking back it might have been more of a natural reaction than not a bad omen-, her adrenaline spiked like she’d been in the car after miraculously avoiding a collision. Her hands trembled a bit as she sneakily tried to look around. There was a couple at the bar two seats to her right, too engrossed in each other to be the source of panic. As she swiped to the other side, her hand caught the straw of her cup, pulling it from inside. She tried to catch it but it rolled over the edge of the bartop, falling to the ground. 

Fucking breathe!

Straw forgotten, she grabbed the cup and twisted around in her stool, swiping the room with her gaze. To her other side there was a group of friends rowdily chatting, no different from the drivers’ table upstairs. He made eye contact with one of them, a guy not participating in the conversation. He seemed embarrassed to have been caught staring as he turned red and avoided eye contact. Too shy, too far away, probably not that either. She started scanning the crowd on the dancefloor with her heart almost at her throat.

Without a straw, she was left to swirl the whole cup to stir its contents. No one in the vicinity was particularly close to her bubble, or paying special attention to her, but the sensation didn’t go away. Some movement from the group at her side made her tense up, but it was a small part of them that walked towards the dancefloor. Shy boy included. The ones left at the bar were immersed in conversation, crowding together to hear themselves over the music. So she relaxed again.

She’d been tilting the drink to her lips when she finally realised that her nearly melted ice cubes had sunk to the bottom of the cup, and the whole thing looked cloudy. Her heart stopped in her throat, closing her airways.

I’ve been drugged.

The realisation sinks in, but it feels unreal.

Is this really happening to me?

The glass is on her lips, and she tilts it back, but keeps her mouth sealed; knowing that whoever did it must be keeping an eye on her. Her jaw is clenched so hard it’s almost difficult to breathe. Her first instinct is to throw the whole thing on the ground, but it’s less than half full now. Whatever they put in it has been in her system for long enough. Her next thought is to notify the bartenders, but she hesitates before turning around. There had been no one near enough on her side of the bar to get close to her drink, and she’d kept her hand over it at all moments; but of course the rim was wide and there were gaps between her fingers where someone could have dumped something in. For now the bartenders are also suspicious. Twisting her arm, she sets the drink on the table behind her; uncaring now to leave it unsupervised. 

The damage has already been done anyway. She figures.

Her heart rate does nothing to slow down, and her thoughts do not help at all. She is in imminent danger with no way out. She’d left her purse at the booth upstairs, and doesn’t have her phone at hand. She looks up in the direction of their table. Under the strobing lights she can see the crowd of drivers has dwindled down. She can distinguish Alex, George, Carlos, Max and Lando sitting up there; the rest of them might be somewhere in the dancefloor. The idea of trying to get the attention of the guys up there was also discarded, since it will alert her assailant too, and she has no guarantee it’ll get the guys’ attention. Trying to find the others in the crowd sounds just as impossible a task as to find a needle in a haystack. 

Her hands shake. The safest alternative that comes to her mind is to run to the women’s bathroom. The crowd queuing in the halfway has reduced, and the hallway looks dark; but it’s her best shot.

Over the corner of her eye something catches her attention. A white button up shit that looks almost fluorescent under the black lights. The figure skirts around the dancefloor, following almost the same path she took to get to the bar, but it’s clear his destination is not the same, since he doesn’t slow down and seems to be aiming for the bathrooms instead.

“Oscar!” She yells before she realises. It might have sounded a bit too strangled, a bit too panicked, but it catches his attention. She’s reaching a hand out to him, and he extends his arm for her to grab as he gets close to her stool.

“Oh hey,” He looks sort of confused, and she doesn’t blame him. They do gravitate to the same groups, But they’re not particularly close friends, so her calling out feels awkward for both of them. “Didn’t realise you came here.” He gestures awkwardly to the bar, but she’s too relieved to have found a safe person she doesn’t even hear what he’s saying. 

She jumps from the stool, holding onto his wrist. “Come dance with me!” 

He hesitates “... You know I’m not-” She’s still not listening, she hesitates between abandoning her cup at the bar, but grabs it at the last second and turns back to him.

“Just one song, come on!” 

“I was going to-” He tries again, but this time she digs her nails into his skin, and desperately tugs him with a trembling hand. He doesn’t put any more resistance, simply trailing behind her as she tries to find a pocket of space for them among the moving bodies. As she walks she feels her blood rushing to her head. She’s feeling too tipsy and woozy for the amount of alcohol she’s consumed; and whatever hopes the whole thing had been in her head crumble like sandcastles at the sensation of her bambi legs. But she has her way out caught in a deathgrip by the wrist, she can still get out unscathed.

As soon as she finds space for them, she stops and turns around to face him, getting close in his space to be heard over the loud music. She wraps Oscar’s arm she’d been tugging on, around her waist, in hopes he can hold her up in case her legs give out and wraps hers around his body too.

She can feel Oscar’s hand in her back, blindly trying to find a patch of fabric to settle on top of. His avoidance of the naked skin of her back settles a minute worry in her mind. Yes, he is a man. Yes, she would probably feel more comfortable coming to her own teammate for help. But Oscar is still safe, he won’t take advantage of her. He is safety.

“Are you sober?” Is the first thing that comes out of her mouth once they’ve settled their positions and start to loosely sway to the beat of whatever song is playing.

Oscar is looking more and more confused at the sudden serious tone of her voice and the way it contradicts the easy smile on her face. She’s still acting up like nothing’s wrong. “Uhh yeah, I came in my car.”

Oscar you blessed man.

“Great! I need you to take me to the hospital right now.” Oscar freezes completely and she tries to keep the easy smile on her face. “Someone put something in my drink and I think I’m going to pass out soon.” His face does something complicated, and one of his hands tries to go for the cup on her hand, but she moves it out of his path, tripping over her own heel in the process. He catches her before she can stumble.

“Why are you still-?” He looks tense in a way she hasn’t seen him many times, he instantly understood the seriousness the situation entails. She’s so glad he believed her, a worry she hadn’t even processed having.

Her confidence starts waving, there is not much time to explain and her voice shakes as she tries to fill him in. “You have to take it- I- I don’t know what they put in- The doctor can… I don’t know-” She feels like she's twelve again, trying to explain to her mother that she accidentally broke her favourite mirror and cut her hand. “They can analyse it or whatever,” she finishes lamely. 

She can see it more clearly now, he’s not just tense, he’s angry. At her or on her behalf? She doesn’t know him well enough to be able to tell the difference.

“You’re so…” Careless. Irresponsible. Stupid. Her eyes fill with tears and he feels like a scolded child. “... smart.” He says instead, not following the script in her mind.

“I kno- Wait what?” He shakes his head, moving past the topic. His voice holds urgency now. 

“Do you know who did it?” He’s looking past her, scanning the crowd behind her.

“No I- There was no one near except the bartenders… I-I didn’t know if they-  A-and I didn’t know who to ask for help!” She sniffs, and clears her throat, swallowing around the tightness in her throat.

He notices her trying to maintain her composure, and smoothes out his expression. “It’s alright. You found me, and I will help you, okay?” In a very unlike-himself moment he wraps his arms closer to her, holding her in a loose hug. Maybe it’s the relief that comes from Oscar’s reassurance that makes her body relax, loosen up. She takes the moment to really get a deep breath, trying to regulate her heart rate, knowing an accelerated heartbeat will only speed the effect of the drug. The music is already hard to hear even with how the deep base thrums in her bones. She lets her head fall forward onto his shoulder and Oscar’s arms tighten around her like a vice, but when she stays standing up he relaxes. “Let’s get you out of here, yeah?” She’s pretty sure she just gave him a small heart attack, but she can’t really find the strength to apologize, so she simply takes another deep breath, this time taking in the smell of his cologne, and nods her head. 

She steps back, trying to maintain balance on the small heels of her shoes, and allows Oscar to grab her arm to guide them through the crowd. It’s a bit scary, how fast she seems to be falling under the effects. What would she have done had Oscar not been there? 

Oscar is aggressively polite as he makes a path for them towards the exit, loudly excusing them as he pushes through. She walks behind him, gaze set on his broad shoulders. They’re almost out of the crowd when she feels a hand closing in on her arm. She flinches and removes her arm before they can grasp her, and steps even closer to Oscar, almost stepping on his heels. “Oscar-” She manages in a squeaky voice, but he must hear her because he holds together and broathens his stride. The hands do not follow, only shoulder bumps as they make their way though. 

They get out the doors in no time. The space outside is deserted, late enough that everyone is either at home asleep or inside the club. Oscar turns to her, scans her and points toward the side street that she assumes would lead them around the building towards the private parking lot. “My car’s this way.” She briefly looks back to the doors, but they stay closed so she nods. Maybe the hand was her imagination, or a simple accidental brush of a hand. 

Her steps are still mostly steady but Oscar still keeps a hand on her left forearm, the warmth from his hand is a stark contrast to the cold air of the Monegasque night. The sweat that had layered over her body is cooling off rapidly as they round the building and by the time they’ve walked the length of the side street and caught sight of the actual parking lot, shivers have started to rack her up.

Oscar briefly lets go of her arm to fish the keys from his pocket and she instantly misses the warmth. Now untethered she slows her walking, paying a bit more attention to where she’s placing her feet. He clicks off the alarm and the navy blue McLaren Artura at the other end blinks its lights at them. “There’s our ride.” Oscar is smiling as he looks back, extending his arm for her again, but his eyes stray over her shoulder and the expression freezes in his face. 

A hand wraps on the arm that Oscar hadn’t been holding and it feels nothing like the Australian's careful and grounding hold. It burns as it takes a bruising hold of her and tugs her to the side. She stumbles with the force of it, body already feeling too close to a ragdoll to comfort. Her voice is strong but not steady as she demands, “Let me go.” She tries to back away from the foreign body, but her ankle gives up and twists painfully. She stumbles but holds her stance and tries to push away from the nasal french voice speaking at her in a sultry voice. The arm that had been trying to push away from the tall man gets caught from the wrist. The drink sloshes and some of it spills over her fingers and onto her dress. 

Just as he’s starting to use his weight against her, a body steps in between them. She collides with Oscar’s shoulder a bit, but her right arm is freed, and she pulls it back towards her. “Get your fucking hands off.” She has never heard him sound so angry. His accent has deepened like she’s never heard before. But he is still gentle as he wraps a hand firmly on her left arm. She can feel him pulling the guy’s hand and prying his fingers open to release her. She uses his back to support herself as she helps pull her arm free from those thick fingers. 

Once freed she stumbles back again, but the Aussie has a firm hold on her and keeps her upright. The guy tries to go around Oscar to get her again, and over the driver’s shoulder she looks at his face for the first time as Oscar pushes firmly with his forearm to keep him away. Tan complexion, prince-y dark hair and a well groomed beard. 

In any other circumstance she would have said he was attractive, but now she can only feel nauseous at the fake nonchalant smile the guy is sporting. With her muddled brain she half understands he’s trying to excuse this as a misunderstanding. He catches the words ‘friend’, ‘together’, ‘mine’ and ‘drunk’. She has no idea if Oscar even understands what the guy is saying, but he seems set on getting him away from her. 

After a more forceful shove that makes the assailant stumble back, Oscar looks over his shoulder and lets go of her, pushing her towards the parking lot. “Get in the car.”

She nods dumbly as she turns in the direction where the lights flashed earlier. The parking lot is only mildly illuminated, but it’s enough for her to be able to locate the Artura among the other luxury cars parked there. There are more confrontation sounds coming from behind, and what sounds very much like a hit, but she doesn’t look back. All her attention and remaining brain power is going to try to reach the car at the end of the parking lot. Her right ankle throbs painfully with each step, and the uneven terrain makes it three times harder, because when the fuck did the pavement turn to gravel?

She leans on a pink Porshe 911 as her legs buckle, the McLaren is right there. There’s the sound of another car starting up, more yelling but she’s already rounding it from behind towards the passenger door. The sound of angry screeching tyres spinning out without traction in the gravel grinds her head and the pain in her ankle is too much; her right leg gives out completely, the other one follows shortly and she’s going down. She tries to drag her hand on the car to find a purchase on something but there’s nothing other than the squeak of her sweaty hand on the polished paint. Her knees take the brunt of the impact, and it stings.

The angry car has sped off, and she’s pretty sure she hears it clip the wall of the sidestreet. She takes a deep breath and lets herself fall seated against the car, knees to her chest, back to the door. Dumly, she notes that the cup still has some liquid on it, its red is just as dark in the low light as the small pinpricks of blood on her knees.

She registers footsteps getting closer to her, and for a second her heart rate speeds up again until she hears her name called by a worried Australian. She bangs her head against the door, willing herself to keep her eyes open as she answers back. Oscar’s footsteps speed up and in no time he’s kneeling in front of her, warm hands on her biceps as he looks over her body. He brings a hand to remove stray pieces of hair from her face and she can see a hint of blood on his knuckles.

“Are you okay?” The words are out of her mouth before she can stop them.

🏎🏎🏎🏎🏎🏎🏎🏎🏎🏎🏎🏎🏎

Oscar cannot believe his ears. “How am- Are you forreal?” An incredulous chuckle escapes him because this girl, shivering on the floor with scraped knees and blown out pupils, who almost got kidnapped by a stranger in a foreign country, is more worried about him than about herself. He shakes his head and wipes his knuckles, showing her the unbroken skin. “I’m alright, see?” Her eyes scan his hand for a second too long before nodding. Her head bobs in a sleepy manner, and he knows he has to hurry. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired,” She’s breathing heavily, but Oscar can’t be sure if it’s an after effect of whatever drug the asshole put in her drink or the exertion of the situation. “My ankle hurts,” He looks down at her feet, still clad in heeled slippers with a complicated ribbon. Neither of her feet looks particularly swollen or bruised for now. “I’m scared…” Her voice is much softer, almost a whisper, but in the emptiness of the parking lot at night, it almost seems to echo. 

He grabs her arms again, rubbing up and down “It’s okay, it’s over now.” She keeps shivering under his arms and Oscar doesn’t know if it’s the cold or shock starting to settle in, “Can you walk?”

Her eyebrows furrow and she tilts her head in a terribly adorable gesture, “Walk where?”

“We need to get you into the car”

“But-” She slaps the back of her hand against the car, “I’m here”

Oscar can’t suppress the smile, “Yeah, but unless you’re planning on driving, we need to get you around the passenger side.”

“... Fuck.” 

“Force of habit, yeah.” He grabs onto her forearms. Her skin feels cold and sticky with dried sweat. “Come on, let’s get you up.” She pulls alongside him, but as soon as her right foot is firm on the ground, she makes a face and he takes more of her weight as she falters, her other leg not cooperating much. 

“Oscar” The slugginess in her voice makes the R in his name sound much breathier. “I don’t think I can walk.”

“Alright, well-” He bends down and swipes her legs off the floor, holding her in a princess's carry. She makes a strangled sound and her arms come to grab at his shoulders. The cup tilts dangerously but she rights it just in time. “Much easier this way.” He makes his way over to the passenger seat and bends his knees to open up the door, depositing her in the seat. “Ah look!” Wedged right in between the seat and the door, is a hoodie he’d abandoned maybe a few days ago. He pulls it and sets it on her lap, taking the cup from her hand. “Think you can get it on by yourself?”

“Mm-hm”

“‘kay, you do that while I figure out where to keep this.” He closes the door and rounds the car again to his seat, looking around the small space to find a safe place to place it without spilling what little liquid remains on it. As his companion wrestles with the fabric, she kicks an abandoned water bottle. “Bingo.” He leans down to grab it. A small shake reveals to still have stale water he poured out of the window before pouring in the remaining cocktail into it. He screws the lid back on and keeps the cup too, just in case. He drops both items in the footrest of the passenger before looking at the occupant. She’s relaxed into the seat, and her eyes are closed. Fear creeps in for a second, “Ready to go?”

thumbs-upHe gets a thumbs up in response. Still conscious it seems. He reaches over and pulls her seatbelt on, knowing he will ignore all speed limits to the hospital. After a second of consideration, he shakes her arm until she’s blinking up at him. “Try to stay awake, yeah?” He grabs his phone, to call Lando. It hasn’t been longer than 10 minutes since he left their table, but he needs someone to call the police on the guy, and let Lando know he needs to get a new ride. He looks at his companion, she’s looking at his phone as it rings in his lap. “If you feel like throwing up let me know, yeah?” He says as he pulls out of the parking lot.

“m’not throwing up.” Her angry eyebrows are back. 

“Okay, then you can help me explain to Lando-” Just then, the Brit’s voice comes through the car speakers.

“Heeellooo? Mate did you get lost on your way back or what?” He’s half yelling to hear himself over the music. It’s a miracle he even heard his phone ring.

“No, I’m taking the Alpine princess to the hospital.” He sneaks a look at her as he accelerates down the narrow monaco streets. She’s still awake, biting her lip as Lando processes the words.

“You what! What happened!? The fuck Oscah?”

He’s about to start explaining, but she speaks up “Some guy spiked my drink, I found Oscar and he got me out.” He has to keep his eyes on the road, but he can see out of the corner of his eye how she cuddles up into the seat. “I’m alright… Pinky promise.”

“Lando, listen, I need you to get Charles to call the police.” The traffic light up ahead has turned yellow, but Oscar doesn’t slow down. It’s the middle of the night and there are no other cars around, so he floors it right as it turns red. “I’ll give you a description, and his license plate. I need you to report him to authorities.”

“Fuck.” He says, eloquently. “Yeah I-” There’s a bit of silence from him, but the music is still humming loudly in the background. “I think I see Charles upstairs, I’ll go get him now.” Oscar can hear him speaking to someone, but it’s muffled like he lowered the phone. Almost a full two minutes later he speaks up again. “Kay, got Charles and Pierre here. They want to know if you’re really okay, sprout?”

Oscar is slowing down for a curve. Because as much as he would love to go as fast as during the actual race, he doesn’t know these streets as well, so he has to be careful. The silence stretches for too long, and as he turns to look at her again, he finds her completely asleep. 

“Shit, she passed out.” He presses harder on the gas pedal, Lando curses too. “He tried to grab her when we were getting to the parking lot. She twisted her ankle and scraped her knees, but other than that, she’s physically alright.” Streets and buildings blur as he speeds by. “Asshole was as tall as George or Alex. Lanky and tan. Dark hair, beard. I broke his nose, and probably his cheekbone before he ran away.” As he approaches a speed bump, he throws his hand over her chest to prevent her from flying around. 

This time it’s a new voice, Charles “He took off running?” 

“No, in a car. Porsche 911 Turbo S, Dark green.”

“Did you get the license plate?”

Of course I did, who do you think I am? 

“M3T9. He busted a backlight as he drove off, if that helps.”

“I will get on it, do not worry he will not get away.” Despite the noise, Oscar can hear how dark Charles’ voice becomes, and he remembers that Charles is a very prominent figure here; the prince of Monaco who is friends with the actual prince of Monaco.

“I’ll leave you to take care of him, then.”

“Yes yes, I will get him. You just get the petite poupée to the doctors, yes?” He has no idea what that means but it sounds like an affectionate nickname.

Oscar nods to himself in the car, “We’re already here, she’ll be alright” He can see the URGENCES sign of the Centre Hospitalier Princesse Grace. He eases his foot off the pedal, as he turns into the mostly empty parking lot.

“Keep us updated!”

“Will do.” 

The call disconnects and he’s left to pick a parking space that isn’t reserved for ambulances. Once he’s turned everything off, he turns to her and shakes her arm, calling her name to try and wake her up, but it’s futile. She’s breathing deeply, sound asleep. He rounds the car and opens her door. He leans over her legs to grab the bottle and scoop under her knees and in the process he discovers she did not manage to get both her arms though the sleeves of his hoodie, and that her right is still tangled inside. He almost huffs a laugh at that. Almost.

Picking her up again feels different than when he did it 10 minutes ago, because her body is too lax, too malleable. This time she makes no sound when he hoists her up, and her head lulls back, stretching her neck over the arm he has under her shoulders. She looks and feels like a ragdoll in his arms as he stands up and uses his elbow to drag the door down and closed; he quietly seethes at the thought of her being like this in the hands of such a vermin. 

How anyone could find such an unresponsive body attractive is a question he doesn’t even want to think of. Instead he stops to adjust her neck, letting her head rest on his collarbone instead of the previous uncomfortable position and fixes the hood over her head to cover up her face. It is the middle of the night, but he has learnt that every wall has eyes and that everything can and will be posted online. He has nothing to hide his face with, but protecting her identity in a moment of such vulnerability is his only priority in his mind after getting her help.

He’s careful of pushing the doors with his shoulder. The reception is empty except for the receptionist behind the desk. He sighs inwardly at that. The woman looks up and stands up immediately upon his arrival at the desk, his French skills are nonexistent, so he wholeheartedly hopes she understands English. “We were at a club and someone put drugs in her drink.” The woman nods once, so Oscar takes that as a sign that she does and continues. “She passed out in the car while driving here, like five minutes ago.” He’s not as oblivious as to think he looks innocent holding a dead looking girl, and the face of the woman, carefully stoic, sets his nerves on fire.

“Did she say what was put in it or who did it?”

 “No, but she asked me to bring what was left of the drink, because she said you could analyse it to treat her,” He sets the bottle on the counter and hikes her up in his arms. “She’d thought it was one of the bartenders, but as we were getting to the car the guy came and tried to take her by force.” He omits the part where he punched him and instead lets his trump card subtly show. “My friend Charles has already called the police to report the assault.” Despite how common it is, the name must register in her mind, because she makes a double take, between Oscar’s face and the face half hidden in his chest. “Please help her,” 

“Of course we will help.” She shakes her head like the thought of them refusing attention was a personal offence. She presses a button behind the counter and rounds the desk to take a better look at the girl in his arms. She produces a penlight from a pocket and gestures towards her. Oscar twists to allow her to get closer. “How long ago did she consume the drink?”

��Uh…” The nurse opens one of her eyelids and flashes her light, studying pupil reaction. “I have no idea, she found me around 15 or 20 minutes ago, she’d already realised by then and didn’t drink the rest of it, but I don’t know how long it was.” He can hear footsteps from behind, another nurse is coming from the personal hallway. “She started shivering too, but I don't know if it was cold or shock. I gave her my hoodie and it has stopped now, at least.”

The woman nods, and as the new nurse comes closer, she starts -hopefully- translating what he’s said in rapid French. It’s like watching Charles, Pierre and Lance gossip during drivers’ parade. The bottle is handed too, and when the exchange ends, the new nurse takes a cursory look, stops at Oscar’s face and mumbles something back before continuing their path towards the next hallway.

“We will get a room set up for her, do you want me to bring a wheelchair in the meantime?”

“No, I’m alright.” She’s deadweight, but not as heavy as Oscar would have imagined, he’s also trained enough during his life, he can hold a few more minutes. The receptionist goes back around the desk and starts asking questions about her for what Oscar assumes is a registry sheet. A new concern sparks in his mind, and he accidentally interrupts one of her questions with his own request. “I don’t know if I’ll be allowed to stay with her, but could you at least make sure she doesn’t get a male doctor?”

Her serious and stoic facade falls at that, and for a second she reminds Oscar of his own mum. “I’ll make sure of that, and I do think you might be able to stay with her. It’ll help her to see a familiar face waking up.” She gives him a reluctant smile and resumes asking if he knows her blood type. 

The other nurse comes back just as they’re finishing, and leads him to a room where they’ll be treating her. As he lowers her from his arm, he remembers to mention a detail he’d forgotten. “Hey, uh- Her ankle… She said it hurt, and might have twisted it.” 

The nurse nods, and answers in a much more prominent accent. “We will take x-ray of it. Your hand is okay?” 

Oscar looks back to his hand. There’s redness on his knuckles and a bruise is starting to form around the bones, but he flexes his fingers a couple of times and it only stings a bit. “No, I’m okay, thanks.”

“Okay, now you wait outside, I call when ready, yes?”

“Yeah, thank you.” 

He closes the door behind him and walks to a nearby bench, using the time to update Lando via text. In return he gets told that Charles stormed off the bar, Pierre, Carlos and Daniel in tow. The rest of them are deciding how to carpool home; and that everyone will keep the situation under wraps, including whoever Charles has contacted. He says that Alex will be stopping by the hospital soon, to drop off her forgotten bag and phone and whatever else she’s left at their table.

The receptionist nurse passes by Oscar in the way to her room and lets him know they’ll take her for an x-ray; and that after that, he might wait inside her room if he wishes, in turn he lets her know he will jump out for a second because another friend will bring her stuff from the bar. The woman nods and gives him the number of the room they will take her after the x-ray for him to come back. 

His phone rings just as they’re rolling her bed out. He only catches a glimpse of an IV line connected to her arm before they wheel her down the corridor, he too turns away. 

Alex is waiting with his emergency lights on. When he sees him come out of the doors, he gives him a tired smile. Oscar leans against the door and they stay in silence for a while. It’s colder out now, or at least it feels like that now that adrenaline is no longer coursing through him. The light sweat he’d worked up earlier is drying cold against his back. He raps his knuckles against the blue paint of Alex’s car, bringing the Thai’s attention to his bruised hand.

“I heard you broke his nose?” Alex’s tone is teasing, if maybe a bit impressed.

“Got a couple hits, yeah.” Oscar closes his fist, the skin tightens over his bones. The memory of a bone cracking under them probably shouldn’t feel as satisfactory as it did. “Should’ve done more.” 

It comes much more bitterly than he’d expected, and Alex places a hand over his wrist, patting him “You did more than any of us, don’t beat yourself up.” He reaches to the passenger seat and pulls a small handbag and Oscar spots a jacket hung behind the seat. “You cold?” Alex must have seen his eyes stray, and as he pulls it from its perch Oscar notices the Williams logo on it.

“Nah mate, I’d rather be cold.”

“Ah, come on I can’t let the boy saviour freeze tonight.”

“No, no, never in a million years you’ll catch me wearing Williams merch,” He grabs the handbag and steps away when Alex tries to push the jacket into his arms too. They’re both laughing as the jacket falls to the ground and Alex is left half hanging off his window to grab it. Oscar watches him struggle for a second or five before deciding to have mercy; so he grabs the jacket and stuffs it in Alex’s face, turns on his back and starts walking back to the doors so he can’t attempt to hand it to him again.

“Oscar!” Alex calls between fabric and laughter, and Oscar turns just in time to catch a juice bottle headed straight to his face. A second one follows right after, he fumbles with it since both his hands are occupied, but he manages not to drop it, Alex snaps his fingers in faux frustration at that. “Take care of her!” He says as he starts his car again.

“Will do, mate.” He watches as Alex drives away until his tailgate lights disappear behind a wall, just then he turns back into the hospital. As he makes his way back, he rearranges the stuff in his hands; he holds the purse under his arm since it doesn’t have any straps, and studies the bottles. Alex had gotten orange and apple. 

Which one would she prefer?

He has no idea, really. He always sees her drinking either water, isotonic drinks, or energy drinks. Apples or oranges? There is a new receptionist at the desk, and when Oscar rattles the new room number, he is directed to the elevators with instructions to the second floor where lower grade emergencies are treated.

He only has to wait around 10 more minutes before she’s wheeled back in. The initial receptionist seems to be the one assigned to her, as she is the one that stays and explains to Oscar that there isn’t any fracture in the ankle. It seems like just her soft tissue was affected and she’ll get by with wearing a brace and sports tape for a few days. The lower half of her body is covered by the sheets while his hoodie covers the rest. One of the sleeves has been pushed up to make space for the IV, and Oscar can see that her foot is resting on a couple of pillows to keep it raised. Her shoes are in a little cubby under the bed, cubby to which he adds her purse.

He gets told there isn’t much they can do about the drug except keep her hydrated and let her body work it though, because it has already been absorbed by her bloodstream, along with the alcohol she’d consumed. But that the sample analysis revealed it to be non-threatening, it’ll just leave her with a nasty hangover. Despite the slight pessimistic tone, the information leaves him relieved, and he relaxes into the chair he’d sat to wait. He thanks the nurse and watches as a new person in different colored scrubs, carefully and efficiently wraps her ankle in neon blue sports tape.

Before long, he’s left alone with her, with instructions of pressing the call button if anything happens, but to try and rest because it could be hours before she wakes.

He tries to keep himself busy whilst keeping an eye on her. He messages Charles with the name of the drug that was put onto the drink, and the only answer he gets is a demon emoji, a fist emoji, hands clapping and another fist. Confused, he simply reacts with a thumbs up. He updates those who have messaged him to ask about her condition, but doesn’t go further than that. He settles on drinking the orange juice, and leaves the apple one in the bedside table next to her bed, scrolls through social media for a while and checks up on her again, but it has been a long and eventful day, and when his eyelids become too heavy, he doesn't fight them very hard.

🏎🏎🏎🏎🏎🏎🏎🏎🏎🏎🏎🏎🏎

Waking up feels like a heavy G crash. There's a pounding in her head that goes at the same tempo as her heart, and it takes conscious effort to take a deep breath. There's a slight throbbing on her bicep, on the wrist of the opposite arm and a sharper throb on her right foot.

She's laying sideways in a soft enough bed and there is little light from what she can see through her eyelids. 

But it doesn't smell like her bed at all.

Instead there's the smell of a different laundry detergent, artificial minty eucalyptus shampoo and a herbal mix. It smells distinctly like men, and the unfamiliarity of it makes her heart race, worsening the pounding of her head.

There's a blank in her memory when she tries to remember the previous night. She knows she was going out with some of the Monaco based drivers, and that she'd abandoned the table at some point. That's where everything starts to get fuzzy. 

There are flashes. 

A body close to hers in the dancefloor. The cold air outside the club. Falling into the gravel. Hands roughly grabbing at her, and a french accent. Falling asleep in a car.

Panic really does settle in at this point, and tears blurry her vision when she opens her eyes; but the room is nothing like she expects it to be. She's in a single bed, and there is a heart monitor that is displaying her rabbiting heartbeat. A saline drip that is halfway empty connected to the back of her hand.

A hospital?

The light is warm and dimmed, seemingly coming from a lamp behind her. She looks down at herself and finds a hoodie that is not hers, and totally is the source of the smells; but looking under it’s collar reveals the same dress she wore last night.

She slowly turns her head, still wary of the raging headache. The overhead lights are off, and her foot is propped on a pillow under the blankets. She wiggles her toes and twists her ankle. A sharp pain sparks, but it's not unbearable.

The other side of the room is half hidden by the glare of the lamp that makes her blink before her eyes adjust to the light.

A figure is sitting in a chair, sound asleep and covered with a blanket identical to hers. Oscar’s arms are crossed across his chest and his neck looks like it will hurt when he wakes up. 

More memories rush to her mind as she turns fully to that side; Lando's voice over the speakers of the car, Oscar's worried face in the dancefloor, his broad back as he pushed another man from her. The light is low, but she can see a bruise forming on the hand where Oscar is holding a half full bottle of juice. 

Slowly, she registers the smell of stale car and something so uniquely Oscar that brings tears back to her eyes.

“Oscar?” Her voice is low, croaky and shaky, full of tears when she speaks. But the reaction is immediate, he's awake in a second. His head snaps back into the right orientation and he clutches the bottle in his hand. Maybe she should feel guilty for waking him up, but that is a too complicated emotion to think of right now, instead there is a pool of relief as he meets her eyes, and an immense amount of trust as he whispers her name and detangles himself from the blanket to get close.

“You're okay, you're okay.” It's obvious he doesn't know what to do about tears, his hands move around uselessly and he looks so constipated it's almost funny. “Are you hurt anywhere? I can- I can call a nurse?” His hand finally decides to hover over a call button at the side of her bed, but she claps hers over his instead, and attempts to dry her face with the other.

“No, it's okay. I'm- I'm okay,” She hiccups again, and his other hand comes to rub up and down her arm; an action that also feels familiar and warm. “Thank you, Oscar.” Her voice is still choked up, but very earnest. She squeezes his hand and he squeezes right back. 

“You don't have to thank me,” She wipes her eyes again and looks back up at him, he's giving her a half smile that pushes a dimple into existence. It's such an adorable new discovery that she can't help the rush of emotions that comes. She lets go of his hand and sits up to pull him into a hug.

“The fuck you mean i don't have to thank you!?” It sounds half muffled against the fabric of his white shirt. “You saved my fucking life, Oscar” His hands come to wrap around her back and tears spring up again at the thought of what could have been. “He could've-”

“Shhh, let's not think about that, yeah? You're alright and that's what matters.” His hands rub circles between her shoulders, “Charles took care of everything else.”

“What’s that mean?” She sniffs, trying to keep the tears from soaking up his shirt.

“I have absolutely no idea, but he knows people who can hide his crimes, I'm not worried about him.” I'm worried about you, “How are you feeling?”

She takes another deep breath. The smell of eucalyptus and laundry detergent is stronger when it comes from the source. She lets go and wipes her face again with the sleeve of her -his- hoodie. “My head hurts and my ankle stings, but I'm alright,” Thanks to you. “I just feel very hungover.”

“Here,” She hears the shake of liquid, and upon removing her hands, Oscar's is offering an unopened bottle of apple juice. “Alex got us these.”

She grabs it and pouts at him, “It's my favourite. Thank you.” The last line comes out more charged than intended, but that's alright because she doesn't think she'll be able to stop thanking him anytime soon.

Oscar simply smiles like he knows, he lightly shakes his head and starts filling her in on what happened after she “fell asleep” as he says. She has no idea what time it is, but there is no rush right now, she's safe and in good hands, and when sleep starts lapping at her feet, she lets herself be swiped by the tide because she trusts Oscar to be there when she wakes up again.

The end.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · · 𖥸 · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

well, if you got here, i want to thank you for reading this the whole way through. as i said earlier, this came to me at 3 am and did not leave my head again, so i had to bring it to life. i hope you enjoyed despite the slightly dark topic.

from my research, i learned that not some drugs are undetectable to the naked eye, so always be aware of your drinks and who is close to you. i hope this story stays as a fictional thing and that none of you ever have to deal with something like that.

taka care and thank you again for reading!

Love,

Nini.

[ravewing]

on the creation of animus magic

i was talking about the origins of animus magic with my discord recently and it made me want to share it here–

mind you, this is something that i had initially come up with around fourth or fifth grade, so it doesn't 100% comply with current canon and its a little shoddy but regardless i need to get it out of my system haha

waay way back in 2019 or so, i came up with a sort of 'origin story' that the dragons of pyrrhia told that explained where animus magic came from.

they believed that a sort of higher dragon spirit that was of simultaneously all and none of the tribes (my interpretation of them is the drawing at the beginning of this post) created the seven dragon tribes, and upon creating them, offered each tribe the power of animus magic.

both the rainwings and mudwings refused. the rainwings believed that such power would create an imbalance of harmony in the rainforest, and thus did not accept. the mudwings believed that if animus magic was wielded by a sib that wasn't a bigwings, then they might use it to overthrow the balanced system, and if a bigwings hatched with magic, then they might use it to steer their sibs in the wrong direction (again, imbalance and disruption of harmony).

the icewings, however, accepted the gift of animus magic, believing that with proper control and tradition, they could harness its power without falling to corruption. the icewings then offered this gift to the seawings, who accepted it.

the sandwings accepted the gift of animus magic from the high dragon spirit as well.

the skywings were very hesitant from the beginning. even though it was offered to them, they never gave a clear answer; many skywings believed that their raw power and physical might were enough to best the other tribes, and that animus magic was a shortcut that undermined their strength. still, because they did not explicitly deny, they still received magic– though it was quickly stamped out.

the nightwings, on the other hand, were not as patient as the other tribes. their thirst for knowledge and power was unquenched, and they sought to claim animus magic before it was even offered to them. they attempted to steal the magic directly from the claws of the high dragon spirit. it saw the actions of the nightwings as dishonorable, and as a result, they were left to pursue other forms of power— namely prophecy and mind-reading.

some dragons believe this origin story to heart, and they passed it down through generations as the definitive truth of where animus magic came from and why certain tribes have it while others dont. others, however, view the story as more metaphorical– to them, the higher dragon spirit and the tale of the tribes’ choices are more like allegories that are meant to teach younger dragonets a lesson about not being greedy or something idk.

anyhow this might be stupid or it might be revolutionary but if you guys like it then i might make some art related to this 'au' :)