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velarisdusk · 23 days

Text

Burning Desire

Eris Vanserra x Reader

Series Masterlist Part 4 <- ✦.⁺.✦.⁺.✦ -> Part 6 - TBD!

word count: 17k (AAAAA?)

content: [ explicit sexual content, unprotected PIV, BDSM, power dynamics, bondage, gags, sensory deprivation, pain play, spanking, paddling, flogging, begging, degradation, praise | infidelity, emotional infidelity, explicit language, alcohol, drinking, smoking (cigarettes, marijuana), bitches are fake as fuck, bad rebound choices, i.e. casually fucking someone who you KNOW has had an actual crush on you for years and not caring, the Vanserra family is a loving one in this he deserves happiness ]

summary: In a depression following being caught cheating, a troubling phone call brings a harsh revelation. Distraught and in need of comfort, you turn to Eris, who's been trying to reach out since that night. He provides the emotional and physical escape you need.

author's note: oh. my. god. i've been working on this for what feels like a decade i feel like years have been taken off of my life. school has been killer (negative), writing this was killer (positive), and i hope you enjoy >:)

It’s been two weeks.

Two weeks of rotting in bed, drowning in self-pity, and starting your days with cigarettes and bottles of rum. Over a week ago, you threw your phone into the drawer of your nightstand, barely resisting the urge to post a pity-filled story for your close friends. Before you essentially vanished, you noticed texts from Feyre and Mor. That was nothing out of the ordinary, but you didn't read them, dreading their content. Were they upset? Angry? What did they think of you? Were the messages even about the situation? You couldn't say if they knew or not.

You also received messages from Az, Eris, and Tarquin. Their concern surprised you, figuring that bro code would have outranked you on the list of priorities. But then, were they even still talking? If you were Cassian, you’d probably cut off all communication.

It was a complicated situation. They all worked together and had for years. They couldn’t just walk away; they were bound by contracts. You wondered how practice was faring if it was even happening. By now, they must have realized that Cassian wasn’t speaking to you. Whether they kept things private or shared the news with Feyre, Mor, or anyone else, you had no idea. You hoped they had the sense not to all come downstairs at once after your departure with Cassian. But even if they were careful, it must have been noticeable when they started reappearing suddenly.

Two weeks of these thoughts hurtling through your mind.

You haven’t told your mother why you showed up disheveled at her door in the night. How could you? You couldn’t bear to face her after admitting what you’ve done.

But as the hours stretch endlessly, a surge of loneliness (only the latest of many) finally drives you to your phone. You respond to the texts from Azriel and Tarquin, reassuring them that you’re as fine as you can be. When you open the text thread with Eris, you’re caught off guard.

Hey, just checking in. How are you holding up?

If you need someone to talk to I’m around. Seriously.

Look, I get that it might seem weird coming from me, but I’m genuinely concerned. No strings, I just want to make sure you’re okay.

I’m not trying to pry, but isolation doesn’t help. If you need a break from everything, my line’s always open.

You sit there, staring at the string of messages, each one making you feel a little more seen, a little more cared for. You aren’t even sure you want to acknowledge that right now. It’s almost too much, the kindness wrapped in Eris’ words, especially when everything else feels like it’s crumbling around you.

But Eris’ texts… they’re a lifeline, a small thread of connection in a sea of isolation. You pick up your phone again, reading through the messages once more, feeling the sincerity behind them. The idea of responding, of reaching out, is both comforting and terrifying. But the thought of facing all of this alone, of letting it continue to eat away at you in silence, is somehow worse.

Your fingers start to move, typing out a response before you can second-guess yourself.

you’re not prying, thanks for checking in. captain morgan’s been keeping me company lmfao

No sooner do you turn your phone off and toss it onto the bed beside you does the screen light up again with a buzz. That was fast.

Sounds like he’s good company, but maybe not the best listener. How about a real conversation instead?

You can almost hear the playful tone in his words, a lightness that cuts through the heavy fog of your thoughts. It’s enough to make you smile, just a little, even as the weight of everything else still hangs over you.

Another buzz and his next message appears.

Seriously, if you want to talk, my door’s open. No pressure, just an offer.

You can tell he’s trying to strike a balance, not pushing it too hard but still getting through your head that he’s there. It’s disarming in a way, and it leaves you wondering if maybe, just maybe, you should take him up on that offer.

thanks eris, i might take you up on that. it’s just… a lot rn, yknow?

There’s a pause, the seconds ticking by as you wait for his reply. You don’t have to wait long, and it’s as straightforward a reply as you expected.

I get it. You didn’t make the mess alone, just wanted you to know you don’t have to deal with it alone. And if you want to get out of your place for a bit, my offer still stands. You can even invite the captain as your plus one if that helps.

You smile at that, a small huff of amusement escaping you. The thought of getting out of your old childhood bedroom, of not being surrounded by the same four walls that have seen you at your lowest, is more appealing than you’d like to admit. Maybe a change of scenery, and the chance to talk things out with someone, would help.

Your fingers hover over the keyboard as you think about how to respond. Part of you wants to dive in and take him up on the offer right away, but another part of you hesitates, unsure how it would look if Cassian found out. You decide to keep things simple. You don’t respond.

Without paying any mind to the countless social media, text, and call notifications from your other friends, you open your texts with Nesta and make a FaceTime call. The thought of her blunt honesty is a small comfort in your otherwise bleak current existence.

Her face appears on the screen, and though her expression is one of surprise and concern, you can’t help but feel a twinge of relief.

“Where’ve you been? You look…”

She trails off, her eyes narrowing as she takes in your appearance. You glance at yourself in the small window at the top corner of the screen. Your eyes are puffy and red, your face is pale, and the bags under your eyes seem darker than ever.

“Talk to me,” Nesta says, her voice gentle but firm, as if trying to cut through the fog of your despair.

You draw a deep breath, the weight of your emotions pressing heavily on your chest. “I don’t even know where to start,” you admit, your voice trembling. “Everything feels like it’s falling apart. I’m a fucking mess.”

Nesta’s gaze softens further, her concern palpable. She leans in slightly, her tone soothing yet resolute. “You can tell me whatever you’re comfortable with. I’m here.”

The hesitation is palpable as you search for the right words, the lump in your throat making it difficult to speak. Finally, you find the courage to confess. “I messed up, Nesta. I don’t know what to do. I feel like I’ve ruined everything.”

Nesta’s expression tightens, her eyes flicking to something off-screen for a moment before she returns her focus to you. She runs a hand through her hair, a sigh escaping her lips as she gathers her thoughts. “Just... try to explain what happened.”

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your emotions before asking, “Do you know what’s been going on?”

Nesta’s gaze momentarily shifts away, a flicker of something you can’t quite read passing over her face. “I’ve heard bits and pieces,” she begins, her tone deliberately vague. “But I’d rather hear it from you.”

Sensing her evasiveness, you decide to give her a broad overview. You explain the guilt and confusion you're feeling, how everything seemed to unravel and make the situation worse than you could have imagined. You describe the betrayal and the weight of not knowing how to mend things. By the time you’ve caught her up, your words are coming out through hysterical cries and gasps for air between sobs.

Nesta listens quietly, absorbing the emotional weight of your words. Her expression reflects a mix of sympathy and contemplation as she processes the gravity of what you’ve shared.

“I broke that boundary to hell, Nesta. I ruined everything.” Your voice trembles with the weight of your confession, the words feeling like a leaden anchor pulling you down.

Nesta’s brows knit together, her concern deepening as she tilts her head slightly. “What boundary…?” she asks, her tone gentle yet probing, as if trying to piece together the fragments of your unraveling story.

You swallow hard, trying to steady your breath, but a sniffle escapes you. “They’ve all been pretty flirty with me since the beginning, and Cassian and I… we decided early on that we didn’t mind it?” You pause, glancing down at your hands as you fidget with the red scrunchie around your wrist, twisting the fabric between your fingers. “So we’d just let them like… make comments… touch up on me a little–”

A sudden, sharp gasp crackles through the phone speaker, cutting through your words like a knife. Your eyes narrow as you stare at the screen in confusion. That sound hadn’t come from Nesta; you’d been watching her intently this whole time, and her lips hadn’t moved.

You furrow your brows, your heart quickening with unease. “What was that? Is there someone there with you?” you ask, trying to keep the edge of suspicion out of your voice, but failing.

But her face is the image of calm, save for the confusion in her furrowed brows. “Huh? Oh, it was just the TV,” she says, quickly flipping her phone around to show you the screen. The shaky camera reveals a reality show playing in the background, the exaggerated drama of strangers’ lives filling the awkward silence.

But your gut tells you something’s off. The way her hand shook just a little as she moved the phone, the tension still lingering in her posture. It all feels wrong. Despite her attempt to brush it off, the seed of doubt has been planted, taking root in the back of your mind.

Nesta flips the phone back to face her, and her voice is smooth and encouraging as she speaks. “So, what are you going to do? Are you going to talk to him?”

You hesitate, letting out a sigh as you rub your temple. “I don’t know. I’m scared of what he’ll say, or worse... what he won’t say. I don’t think I’m ready for that kind of rejection, Nesta.”

She nods slowly, her expression softening into one of understanding. “You have to do what feels right for you, but running away won’t make it any easier in the long run. I know it’s—and I’m sorry to say this—your fault, but you still deserve to know where things stand, even if it’s hard to face.”

You shift uncomfortably, the weight of her words pressing down on you. “I know, I just... I need time to think. To figure out what I want, what I’ll do.”

Nesta listens patiently, offering her quiet support as you continue to spill your thoughts. The conversation drifts from your immediate fears to the what-ifs. She shares some of her own experiences, her voice a mix of tough love and genuine care, giving you just enough space to feel heard without feeling judged.

The minutes tick by, and soon you find yourself leaning back into the pillows, the exhaustion creeping in. You talk about other things too, and an hour passes before you even realize it, the conversation winding down naturally, both of you running out of things to say. It’s a comfortable silence now, a brief respite from the storm of emotions you’ve been weathering.

“I should let you go,” you finally say, your voice soft. “Thanks for listening, Nes. I... I needed this.”

Nesta smiles, a touch of warmth breaking through her usual stoic demeanor. “Anytime. You know I’m here for you.”

You nod, feeling a little lighter, if only for a moment. “I’ll talk to you soon.”

As you move to end the call, you hear it—faint, but unmistakable. A voice, muffled but clear enough to make out the words: “No way–”

Your heart skips a beat, but before you can react, the call disconnects, leaving you staring at the screen, that single phrase echoing in your mind. The voice wasn’t Nesta’s, and it sure as hell didn’t come from the TV. You know that voice. It’s familiar in a way that makes your stomach churn, your pulse quicken. The realization hits you like a ton of bricks, a cold wave of dread washing over you.

It was Elain’s. You’re sure of it. You sit there for a moment, phone still in hand, your mind racing. But why would she be there hidden from view? Why wouldn’t she just say hello or at least make her presence known? The questions tumble over each other, forming a gnawing pit of unease in your gut.

Then, like pieces of a puzzle snapping together, the thought hits you: Elain was listening in, but she didn’t want you to know she was there. The secrecy, the way Nesta quickly tried to cover it up. It wasn’t just about eavesdropping. No, it felt intentional, like Elain was trying to gain insight into your situation with Cassian. Your breath catches in your throat as the implications sink in. A cold, hard truth begins to crystallize in your mind. She wanted to know the details because it mattered to her. It mattered because she’s involved—because she and Cassian are…

You don’t want to finish the thought, but it’s there, undeniable and ugly. Elain and Cassian. It explains the secrecy, the way Nesta tried to protect her, and the sickening feeling gnawing at your insides.

The weight of it is almost unbearable, pressing down on you as you sit there, phone in hand, processing the cruel truth that’s just come to light. Elain and Cassian. How? Why? You never saw any sign in their interactions before. The bitterness of the revelation is a sharp, relentless edge in your chest — you need to do something, anything, to shake off this feeling.

You push yourself up from the bed with a determined resolve, your mind racing with anger and the need to reclaim some sense of control. First things first: you need to wash off the remnants of the last two weeks, the sweat and guilt that cling to you.

The hot water of the shower is a welcome relief against your skin, and you let the steam envelop you, trying to wash away the emotions churning inside. You lather up, scrubbing away the sweat and liquor and cigarette smoke, letting the water run over you until you feel clean, both physically and mentally. You stand under the spray, letting the water cascade down your body as if it could cleanse the memories away. When you’re done, you run a comb through your hair, detangling the wet strands with care before blow-drying and styling it, every strand perfectly in place and your arms sore by the time you’re done.

You reach for your phone, fingers hovering over the screen as you debate your next move. Finally, with a deep breath, you type out a message to Eris:

you still up for company?

It’s simple, to the point, and carries the weight of everything you’re feeling right now. Maybe you shouldn’t be doing this, but you hit send before you can overthink it, nerves and anticipation bubbling in your chest. As you wait for his reply, you glance at yourself in the mirror, taking in the freshly styled hair, and the clean skin. You look entirely different than you did this morning. You’re someone in control, someone who knows what she wants. Your phone buzzes.

Absolutely. I’ll swing by and pick you up.

You weren’t expecting that, but you don’t hesitate before replying with the address. His response is swift.

See you in 15.

Your eyes linger on the screen, absorbing his words as you double-tap and leave a heart his message. Something is grounding about the certainty in his response. No hesitation, no questions, just action. You set your phone down and take one last look in the mirror, a quiet determination settling in your chest. He’ll be here soon, and you have just enough time to get dressed.

You see Eris pulling up through your window, the white Jaguar rolling to a stop, and you take a deep breath before heading toward the door. As you walk down the driveway towards him, you catch a glimpse of your reflection in the car’s window. Jean shorts and a hand-cropped t-shirt—casual and understated.

Eris’s eyes meet yours as you approach the car, his expression softening with concern. There’s no sign of the smirk you usually see on his face. Just a steady gaze that feels sincere. He leans over the center console and opens the door for you, a simple gesture, but one that makes your heart feel lighter.

As you settle into the passenger seat, you set your tote bag down in the footwell. It holds a mostly full bottle of Captain Morgan, a pack of Newports, some gum, and a lighter you grabbed on your way out.

Eris’s eyes flick to the neck of the bottle sticking out of the bag before he asks, “Bringing the party with you?”

You shrug, offering a faint smile. “You did say I was allowed a plus one.”

He nods, his tone softening. “That I did... You okay?” he asks, pulling away from the curb.

You glance at him, a bit surprised at the shift from teasing to concern. “Not really,” you admit quietly.

Eris gives a small nod, his eyes still on the road. “Could’ve guessed the answer, huh?” he remarks, the corner of his mouth quirking up slightly.

You offer a wry smile and a quiet “yeah.” You glance out the window as the sunlight reflects off passing buildings. “But I figured getting out of the house might not hurt. What were you thinking of doing?”

Eris keeps his eyes on the road. “I can swing by somewhere if you need to grab something or,” he pauses, a sly grin forming. “Or if you’re up for unwinding a bit…”

You raise an eyebrow, catching the playful glint in his eye. “What are you suggesting?”

He shrugs, one hand gripping the steering wheel casually. “We could stop by my plug’s place and pick something up, if you’re looking to take the edge off. He’s got some good shit.”

You lean back in your seat, considering his offer. The idea of numbing your mind with something other than liquor is very tempting. You glance at Eris, his casual demeanor giving nothing away, but you can sense that beneath the surface, he’s paying close attention to your reaction.

You nod, feeling a sense of resolve settling in. “Let’s do it. I could use a change of pace.”

Eris keeps his eyes on the road, but there’s a flicker of approval in them. “Alright, then,” he says with a grin, shifting lanes smoothly as he changes direction. His hands move with practiced ease, one gripping the steering wheel and the other shifting gears with effortless precision. You glance up from your phone just in time to see him reach into the center console. He pulls out a sleek pack of Dunhills, taps one out, and lights it with a quick flick of his lighter.

The cigarette sits casually between his lips, its ember glowing softly as its smoke curls lazily around him. “Want a cig?” he asks, his tone casual as he cracks his window.

You hesitate for a moment, then nod, reaching out for the cigarette sticking out of the pack. Eris passes it to you with a small knowing smile, his eyes flicking briefly to meet yours before returning to the road and lowering your window for you. You take a drag, the smoke filling your lungs and momentarily dulling the edges of your lingering unease. It’s quite the difference from the menthol kick of your usual Newports. The flavor is richer, with a deep, earthy undertone that’s almost woody. It feels more refined, less about the immediate hit, and more about a lingering, sophisticated aftertaste. You exhale, the smoke curling in the air, and the taste leaves a warmth that’s oddly comforting.

“Helps, doesn’t it?” he glances at you, a touch of curiosity in his gaze.

You exhale slowly, watching the smoke get pulled out the window. “A little… Thanks,” you say, and you both know it isn’t just for the cigarette.

Eris nods, his grin widening slightly. “Anytime. We’ve got a bit of a drive, so just get comfortable. We’ll hit the place soon.”

You settle back as Eris merges onto the highway. The sun is high, casting a warm light over the passing scenery. The rhythmic hum of the engine and the classic rock on the radio make for a relaxing ride. You gaze out the window, watching the landscape shift as the car speeds along. After finishing your cigarette, you hold onto the butt, not willing to litter. Eris is focused on the road, so you just hold onto it, unsure what else to do.

A few minutes later, Eris chuckles and glances over, eyebrow raised. “Were you going to hold onto it the whole ride? Come on, you can’t be serious.”

You give a small laugh, shaking your head. “Well, I wasn’t going to throw it out the window.”

Eris smirks, his eyes flicking to the cigarette butt in your hand. “Just give it to me.”

He reaches over, fingers brushing against your wrist as he tries to take it from you. But you’re quicker, pulling your hand away with a playful glare. “No!” you protest, holding the butt out of his reach. “You’re gonna throw it out the window!”

His grin widens, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he leans closer, making another grab for it. “I won’t, I promise.” And for some reason, you believe him.

He takes the cigarette butt from your fingers and, with a practiced motion, opens the center console and undoes the locking mechanism on a glass jar. He drops it in, the jar already filled with likely a pack’s worth. The jar seals with a soft click, likely why you hadn’t noticed any lingering smell before. He shuts the jar and console, his attention never wavering from the road.

The smell-proof jar, not even considering littering, doing it all while keeping his eyes on the road—it’s the kind of thing that shouldn’t be as hot as it is.

The drive stretches on with the radio playing softly in the background. You watch the scenery blur past as the car weaves effortlessly through traffic. With the windows still cracked, you catch a glimpse of Eris’s auburn hair tousled by the breeze. The sun casts long shadows across the highway, and you find a strange comfort in the steady rhythm of the drive. Eventually, Eris slows the car, steering off the main road and into a sleek, gated driveway. The place is an upscale, modern mansion with neatly trimmed hedges. Not what you expected. He parks near the entrance and turns to you with a casual smile.

“I’ll leave the car running,” he says. “Lock up, I’ll be quick.”

You nod, watching as he gets out and heads toward the front door. The gate closes behind him with a gentle click, leaving you alone in the plush interior of the car. After a few minutes, Eris reappears with a small, discreet bag in his pocket. He slips back into the driver’s seat, the bag placed neatly into the center console.

The car pulls out of the driveway, and Eris’s eyes flick toward you as he navigates the streets with practiced ease.

“Any special spots in mind, or are you up for anywhere?” he asks, the hint of a grin in his voice.

You shrug, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “Nah, yours is fine.”

He gives a teasing scoff, putting a hand on his chest as he speaks. “My place is special, (y/n), you wound me.”

His words pull a genuine laugh from you. It really wasn’t that funny, but hearing your name on his tongue so casually stirs a nervous flutter in your chest.

“What’s so special about it?”

“Besides the view, or the pool, or the game room?” he pauses for dramatic effect, lowering his voice to a murmur. “Yours, truly.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Is that so? And what makes you so special?”

Eris lets out a soft laugh, his gaze flicking to you before returning to the road. “Well, I’ve been told I’ve got a talent for making things unforgettable.”

“Someone’s got a massive ego.”

He grins, his eyes glinting with confidence. “Guilty as charged. You like it though.”

You roll your eyes at that, unable to keep the smile from creeping onto your face any longer. “Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

“Ah, you didn’t deny it. I’ll take it.”

“You’re impossible,” you laugh softly, shaking your head.

As the highway fades into the background, the road before you begins to wind through lush greenery. The towering trees start to crowd in, their canopies forming a dappled, sunlit tunnel. Fields of wildflowers stretch out on either side. The road curves gently, revealing glimpses of a large, elegant house nestled among the trees, its silhouette framed by the tranquil lake shimmering in the late afternoon light.

When you step inside, the first thing you notice is how effortlessly cool the place feels—like it’s been designed with a blend of sophistication and laid-back charm. The living room is spacious and airy, with large windows that let in plenty of natural light, casting a warm glow over the polished wooden floors. The furniture is a mix of sleek modern pieces and cozy, oversized cushions that invite you to sink in and relax.

Eris heads over to a low cabinet and retrieves a small grinder and some neatly rolled-up papers from a hidden drawer. He moves with casual confidence, clearly in his element. You couldn’t help but wonder how many women he’d invited here for a smoke before you, having to remind yourself that this wasn’t that. You’re here as a friend who needs an attentive ear.

“So,” he says, flashing a grin as he begins grinding the weed, “what do you think of the place?”

You settle into the sofa, taking in the room’s ambiance. The walls are adorned with tasteful art, and the scent of cedarwood and something subtly herbal fills the air. It’s inviting.

“Not bad, huh?” Eris continues, leaning against the cabinet and looking down at the papers in his hand.

You chuckle, glancing around. “Yeah, it’s alright.”

His eyes dart up to meet yours, a playful, mock-surprised smile on his face. “Crazy…” he murmurs.

You roll your eyes with a smile. “Oh come on, you know it’s a nice place. I'm not gonna shower you with more compliments than you need.”

He chuckles, shaking his head as he sits on the couch, starting on the joint. The sound of the grinder and the rustle of the papers are the background to your conversation. “Fair enough. But before we get too cozy with this,” he nods toward his work, “let’s talk. I’d rather hear how you’re really doing.”

You hesitate, feeling a bit vulnerable all of a sudden. “I don’t know if I can get through it all sober.”

Eris looks at you with a soft, reassuring smile, his fingers pausing briefly as they work the paper. “Just try.”

For a moment, you’re silent, the sound of the grinder filling the space between you. You look around the room, at the art on the walls, the low light casting a warm glow over everything. It’s easier to focus on that than on the storm inside your head.

But then you find his gaze again, and the quiet concern in his eyes makes something inside you crack, just a little. "It’s just… everything’s been so overwhelming lately," you begin, your voice soft. "I keep making these choices that… I don't know how to explain it… I’m digging myself into a deep, deep hole. And I don’t know how to get out." You hesitate as you try to find the right words. “It’s just… I don’t even know why I let it happen. I mean, I love Cassian, he’s everything to me. But every time I’m with you,” the words catch in your throat, and you quickly clarify, “with all of you, I mean… I feel like I’m losing myself, like I’m just drifting through all of it without thinking. It’s like I’m not even in control anymore.”

Your voice trembles as the floodgates open, the words spilling out faster than you can stop them. “And the guilt… it’s eating me alive. Every time I’d see Cassian, it was like I was drowning in it. When we went to sleep at night, when he’d kiss me, when we cooked dinner, when he’d tell me he loves me and I said it back with a straight face, knowing what I’ve done… I keep asking myself why I did it, why I kept doing it, but I don’t have an answer. I don’t even know if I’m looking for one or if I’m just trying to justify something that can’t be justified.”

You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, but the weight of it all is too much. “I thought I could handle it, that I could keep everything separate, but it’s all tangled up now. I’m tangled up. And I don’t know how to fix it, or if I even can.” You pause, swallowing hard as you try to gather your thoughts. Focusing on how methodically he rolls the joint is the only way you can keep from crying. “The past couple of weeks have been a nightmare,” you continue, your voice barely above a whisper. “Every day feels like I’m just… going through the motions. I wake up, and for a split second, everything’s fine. But then it all comes crashing back, and I remember what I’ve done. It’s like this constant weight on my chest, and I can’t breathe.”

There’s a heavy silence as you finish, the room feeling almost too quiet. You glance at Eris, the exhaustion in your eyes reflecting your need for a break from the emotional turmoil. “I can’t keep talking about this right now,” you say, your voice wavering slightly. “I just need to… I don’t know.”

Eris nods, a knowing look in his eyes. “Yeah, I got you,” He stands up, moving with a relaxed confidence, and heads towards the kitchen. You watch him, feeling a small flicker of relief at the prospect of a distraction. He returns with two glasses of ice, setting them down on the coffee table before lighting the joint and pointing towards your bag for the rum. When you reach to pour the drinks, he gently takes the bottle from you, pouring them himself.

You take the glass when he offers it, the alcohol warming your insides and helping to dull the sharp edges of your thoughts. Eris hands you the joint, a small, encouraging smile on his lips. “Here’s to a temporary escape,” he says, his tone lighter now.

You take a slow drag, letting the smoke fill your lungs and the effects of the alcohol and weed start to mingle in your system. The combination is soothing, and you feel the tension begin to ease. As the minutes pass, you can feel the fog of intoxication settling in, and your thoughts become less jagged.

A while later, the room is darker now, the only light coming from the soft glow of the lamp on the side table. The drinks are empty and the bottle of rum you brought stands proudly, and emptily, in the center of the table. The joint is long finished, and the conversation has shifted from heavy to light. You and Eris are more relaxed on the couch, and the air is filled with more classic rock, the remnants of laughter, and the gentle hum of your voices.

You lean back, feeling pleasantly buzzed, the haze of the alcohol and weed wrapping you in a cocoon of warmth. Eris is sitting right next to you, his leg pressed against yours, his hand resting casually on the cushion next to you. The shared warmth and comfortable silence between you feel natural.

“You know,” you say, your voice slightly slurred but lighthearted, “I didn’t think I’d find myself here tonight, like this. But... I’m glad I did.”

Eris glances over at you, a small smile playing on his lips. “Sometimes the unexpected turns out to be the best part of the night.”

You chuckle softly, the sound mingling with the music playing in the background. “Yeah, it’s funny how things work out. I definitely needed this more than I realized.”

He nods, his eyes softening as he looks at you. “It’s good to let go now and then. Just don’t forget there’s still shit to unpack when you’re ready.”

You let out a deep sigh, your gaze drifting around the dimly lit room. There’s a moment of hesitation as the weight of your earlier conversation looms on the edge of your thoughts. The alcohol and weed have softened the edges, but the heaviness is still there.

Eris shifts slightly, his hand moving a bit closer in the process. Whether it was intentional or not, you don’t know. “You know,” he says gently, “it’s not every day you find someone willing to listen without judgment. You should take advantage of that.”

You take a deep breath, feeling the pressure build behind your eyes. “Cassian… he’s been nothing but loving, nothing but kind to me. And it kills me, Eris. It kills me to look at him and know that I’ve betrayed him in the worst possible way. Multiple times.” You feel the lump in your throat as you continue, the warmth of the alcohol making it easier to let your words flow. “I keep trying to think of ways to fix it, to find some sort of answer or way to redeem myself. But...” Your eyes search the dim room as if trying to find some clarity in the shadows.

“I keep going over every moment, every decision, wondering where things went so fucking wrong. It’s like replaying a movie where I know the ending is tragic, but I can’t look away. I did this shit to myself…

“The hardest part is that he saw everything. He didn’t even need me to confess; he saw it with his own eyes. And everytime I replay that night, I think about how coldly he looked at me. He’s never looked at me like that before. Not that I don’t deserve it.” You glance at Eris, the weight of your emotions clear in your eyes. “I’m trapped in this cycle of guilt and regret, and it’s suffocating. I don’t even know what I’m looking for anymore—whether it’s forgiveness, understanding, or just a way to get rid of all this guilt. The thought of facing Cass again… God, I can’t…”

Eris’s eyes narrow slightly as he takes it all in, draping an arm across the back of the couch. You aren’t quite close enough for it to wrap around you.

You mentally chastise yourself for wishing you were. Thinking like that is what got you into this mess.

His voice is low but steady when he speaks. “You’re human. You made choices. Bad ones, sure, but it doesn’t make you a monster.” He pauses, his gaze intense. “It’s easy to get lost in guilt. But you’re not doing anyone any favors by going MIA. Especially not Cassian.”

You scoff. “Cass doesn’t want to talk to me.”

“How are you so sure?” he asks, his fingers drumming lightly against the couch, the rhythm steady and patient, unlike the chaos unleashed in your mind by the simple question.

The Facetime with Nesta shoves itself to the forefront of your mind as if your subconscious has been holding it back all this time. You’d heard Elain’s voice in the background, imagined her laughter mingling with Cassian’s, imagined him sharing her breath, his tongue deep in—

The thought hit you like a sucker punch, just as the air had been knocked out of your lungs the moment you’d put the pieces together.

“I’m pretty sure Cassian is fucking Elain,” you blurt out, your voice shaking with the weight of the confession.

Eris’s expression doesn’t change, but his eyes sharpen. “Why do you think that?” he asks calmly, though there’s a new edge to his voice.

You swallow hard, the memory still raw. “When I was on a call with Nesta, I heard Elain in the background. She was trying to listen in on me ranting about this all to Nesta… She didn’t even say hi to me, didn’t let me know she was there. Why would she do that unless she was hiding something?”

Eris raises an eyebrow, his expression skeptical but curious. “You might be reading too much into this,” he says, but the sharpness of your gaze makes him backtrack quickly. “Alright, alright, I didn’t mean it like that. Just… how are you so sure they’re involved?”

You exhale sharply, frustration evident. “Cassian is incredibly vindictive in bed,” you say, thinking back to all the times he’d gone hard on you just for catching you making eyes at one of the guys. “I’ve been through his friends, I’d be more shocked if he didn’t try to go through mine.”

Eris’s eyes narrow thoughtfully. “Most of his friends.” He doesn’t elaborate but the implication is clear. “I’m not saying you’re wrong, but it’s not always best to assume the worst.”

A fleeting thought crosses your mind. Eris is right. You and he never crossed that line, despite the heated moments over the years, despite the events the night of Ianthe’s party. If Cassian is dropping you off on your mom’s doorstep just to go after your friends, maybe it’s time for you to stop moping around and start embracing some fun yourself. Why should you sit at home and stew when he’s out there doing who knows what? Who knows who? For all you knew, Nesta had fucked him too. And, honestly, Eris doesn’t look half bad in that black, fitted t-shirt and tailored jeans, the thin silver chain around his neck glinting in the low light. There’s a roguish charm about him, just as there’s always been. It’s something that makes him undeniably tempting.

You look down at your lap with a sigh, a feigned sadness in your eyes, and a playful pout on your lips. “Well, if Cassian’s going to do whatever he wants, maybe I should too.” You look up, letting your gaze linger on him, lowering to his lips before meeting his eyes again.

Eris’s eyes flicker with surprise, but he maintains his cool as he raises a brow. “Is this where we’re headed now? I thought we were in the middle of something a bit more serious.”

You scoot closer to him, close enough for the hand on the back of the couch to rest on your shoulder if he wanted it to. “Maybe I’m tired of pitying myself. Or maybe I’m feeling adventurous.” A glint of mischief sparkles in your eyes before you slip back into your act.

Eris chuckles, a faint smile curling his lips. “A distraction, huh? You know that won’t fix anything.”

You shrug, maintaining your demeanor. “Who says it has to be about fixing anything? Sometimes a little distraction is just what you need,” you level. Tired of the theatrics, you scoot even closer and grab that god-forsaken hand, placing it gently on the back of your neck.

Eris’s fingers linger there, his expression shifting from playful to intrigued before he traces soft patterns on your skin. “Is that right? And here I thought you were just looking for a friendly ear.”

You lean closer, your voice dropping to a softer, more flirtatious tone. “You mean to tell me you didn’t have any other intentions? Not a single fleeting thought?”

Eris’s gaze drops to your lips, his eyes narrowing with intrigue. “So, what are you suggesting? Are we breaking some rules tonight?”

You let out a soft laugh. “Yeah, something like that. A night of enjoyment. No strings attached, just...”

Your words trail off as you close the distance between you, your lips meeting his in a slow, heated kiss. His hand grips the back of your neck, pulling you closer as the kiss deepens. It starts slow, almost exploratory, but quickly deepens as you both lose yourselves in the moment. The taste of liquor lingers on his tongue, a heady mix of rum and something uniquely Eris. You savor it, letting the alcohol-infused warmth of the kiss sweep over you. Your lips move against his with increasing urgency, and you gently tug at his lower lip, pulling him closer.

Eris’s hand tightens around the back of your neck, his fingers sliding into your hair as he angles his head to deepen the kiss. His tongue meets yours with a bold, almost possessive stroke, and you pull back just slightly, your breath mingling with his. Your eyes lock, the heat still palpable between you. “I like the taste of you,” you murmur, a playful glint in your eyes.

He exhales, a low, throaty sound that’s part groan, part sigh, as if you’re unraveling him with every word, every touch. It’s the kind of sound that sends a shiver through you, making you feel like you’ve got him right where you want him. His eyes darken with desire and amusement before he leans back in to capture your lips again. This time, the kiss is more intense, a dance of passion and need. His hands roam to your waist, pulling you even closer. The world outside seems to fade away as you both lose yourselves in each other.

Eris’s lips trail down to your neck, his breath hot against your skin. You arch into him, the sensation of his touch making you shiver. You let out a soft moan as he kisses a sensitive spot just below your ear, making your pulse race. You’re left feeling lightheaded from the drinks and the smoke, and every touch, every caress feels electrifying. His hands slide up to your back, pulling you tighter against him, if possible.

His lips return to yours, and this time, the kiss is unrestrained, filled with a raw, urgent need. You can feel the strength in his arms, the way he holds you close, as if afraid that letting go might make this moment slip away. He pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, his gaze smoldering. There’s a breathless pause, the intensity of the moment hanging between you. “You said you were feeling adventurous,” he says, and you shrug. “How adventurous?” His voice is low and his words are laced with an intensity that wasn’t there before.

You let out a soft laugh, the sound almost breathless from the heated kiss. “You’re not planning on taking me out back and murdering me, are you?” you joke, looking out the large windows at the sea of tree silhouettes around you.

Eris’s lips curl into a half-smile. “Well, I hadn’t thought of it, but now that you mention it…”

You nudge him playfully, your smile widening.

Eris’s expression turns serious again, though the amusement in his eyes doesn’t fade. “I promise, nothing like that. But I do have something in mind that might be a bit… beyond what you’re used to.”

You look into his eyes, feeling a mix of anticipation and excitement. “I sincerely doubt that,” you say, your voice steady. You’ve had more than your fair share of sexual escapades, indulging in all kinds of experiences in past relationships. And with Cassian, the bedroom was never without a spark—rarely did things stay simple.

Eris’s eyes brighten with satisfaction. “Good to hear.”

He stands and grabs another joint he’d rolled earlier, offering you a hand to help you up. You take it with a playful smile and follow him.

The music fades as you follow Eris down a short flight of steps. The hallway is lined with eclectic art and framed photos. One with Eris surrounded by a bunch of dogs, a grin on his face that’s more genuine than you’ve ever seen. Another with the Vipers, his arm slung casually around Azriel, all of their faces flushed with victory. You have to talk yourself out of paying too much attention to Cassian in that one. There’s even one of him with who you assume is his family, standing in front of a cabin, all smiles and warmth. It’s a side of him you’ve never seen before, and it makes you see him in a different light—one that’s more personal, more real.

At the end of the hall, a large bookshelf stands against the wall. Eris pauses, throwing you a sly glance before reaching for one of the books. He pulls it, then pushes the bookshelf open, revealing a short set of steps leading down into a hidden space below. How cliché.

“After you,” he murmurs, gesturing for you to step inside.

You look at him with creased eyebrows, to which he only gestures his arm in again. You find a lounge, set slightly lower than the rest of the house, with five or so steps leading down into it. The room is richly decorated, with dark wood paneling, plush seating, and warm, ambient lighting that adds to the intimate, secluded atmosphere.

Eris follows you inside, closing the bookshelf door behind him. The room is completely private, a hidden sanctuary within his home. He steps closer, holding the joint he rolled earlier between his fingers. “What do you think?” he asks, his voice carrying a note of quiet pride.

You take a moment to absorb the space, your eyes drifting over the rich details—the king-size bed on the far wall, the soft glow of the lighting, the floor-to-ceiling mirror on one wall, the smooth texture of the dark wood, the way the room seems to envelop you in warmth. It's intimate without being suffocating, luxurious without feeling ostentatious. You notice cabinets discreetly integrated into the walls, their contents hidden behind polished doors. A smirk tugs at your lips as you turn to face him. “I can honestly say I wouldn’t have expected this from you, Eris. A sex dungeon? Really?”

Eris arches a brow, looking mildly offended. “Dungeon? That’s what you’d call it?”

You raise an eyebrow in response, your teasing tone unwavering as you gesture around the room. “Isn’t that what it is? Hidden room, dark wood, all the ambiance… seems like a dungeon to me.”

He steps closer, his eyes narrowing playfully. “Dungeons are cold and grimey. This is a private lounge, a sanctuary, carefully curated for… specific tastes.”

You can’t help but laugh, the sound echoing softly in the room. “A curated sanctuary, huh? You really do have a way with words.”

Eris’s lips curve into a smirk as he reaches for your hand. “Words, among other things.”

He lets the words hang in the air, a knowing smile tugging at his lips. You arch an eyebrow, leaning in slightly as if challenging him. “Among other things?” you echo, your tone playful. “Care to elaborate?

He steps closer, his gaze steady and full of intent. “You’ll find out soon enough,” he replies, his voice smooth as silk. “But first, I need to know how far you’re willing to go.”

Your heart skips a beat, not out of fear but from the thrill of the unknown. You’re no stranger to pushing boundaries, and something about Eris’s confident, almost predatory demeanor only heightens your anticipation.

Instead of answering directly, you take a step closer, closing the remaining distance between you. “You really think this kind of thing is—What was it you said? ‘Beyond what I’m used to’, was it?” you tease, your lips curving into a smirk.

Eris’s smile widens, his eyes gleaming with challenge. “Alright, alright,” he murmurs before he pulls you in by the small of your back for another heated kiss, and he speaks against your lips. “You have full say in how this goes, I don’t want to go any further than you’re okay with.”

You pull him off by the hair on the nape of his neck, and the muted hiss that escapes him shoots straight to your core. “Oh, well if I’ve got full say,” you say, sarcasm lacing your words. “Give me whatever you think I can take, and then some.” You give him a dazzling smile, but he can only look at you in wonder.

His hands find your waist, giving the flesh there a tight, possessive squeeze. He leans forward, bringing his lips to your ear. “C’mon, pretty girl, strip for me.” His voice is low, almost coaxing, with a soft yet commanding tone that makes your skin tingle.

Though you’re surprised at his suddenness, you don’t hesitate. As you begin to strip away your clothes, Eris steps away, moving toward a large set of deep drawers. He looks back at you as he goes, drinking in your every movement as you peel off each item of clothing. First you shed your shirt, then the shorts, followed by your socks, underwear, and even the scrunchie on your wrist. The air thickens with anticipation as you wait, rather impatiently, to see what he’s looking for.

“Y’know, most guys wouldn’t have their back turned to the beautiful, naked woman in their basement,” you muse, examining your nails as you stand perfectly tall.

“First, it’s not a basement.” He turns to you, black rope in hand, his smirk tinged with an emotion you can’t quite place. “But you’re right, baby. I’m sorry. How about I make it up to you?”

You have to suppress a shiver at his words, or maybe it’s because of the cool air on your bare skin. He takes you in like it’s his first time seeing you, like he didn’t have you practically grinding against the heel of his hand two weeks ago. You’re not sure if it’s the substances in your system or the prospect of doing whatever he can imagine to you, but he feels different today than he had then.

Eris reaches into one of the drawers and pulls out a small, sleek controller. With a quick press of a button, a rig begins to descend from the ceiling, the soft hum of the motor filling the room. He keeps his eyes on you, holding the controller loosely in one hand as the rig stops at around eye level.

His tone is almost casual as he walks back towards you with the rope, the controller goes into his pocket. “Ever use one of these before?” You can only shake your head in response as you walk around the metal hook, thinking for the first time that you may be in over your head. “Good. Go ahead and kneel there for me.”

Eris moves behind you as you kneel, working the rope through the rig and instructing you to place your hands behind your back. The rope isn’t as rough against your skin as you anticipated. His hands work with practiced ease, securing your wrists together. He steps back, watching you with a satisfied expression. Then, with deliberate slowness, he begins to raise the rig, the rope tugging your wrists upward. The position forces you to stand as it continues to rise, his eyes narrowing as you do.

Once you’re in position, bent forward with your arms forced behind you, Eris steps closer again, his fingers tracing the line of your spine. “You look so good like this,” he murmurs against your ear. His fingers skim up your arm, lingering at the nape of your neck. His touch is almost tender, a stark contrast to the tension in the room. “Is it okay if I–”

“Do whatever you want,” you interrupt, your voice steady even as your heart races. “If I don’t like it, I’ll let you know. Just do something, please…” You needed a distraction from your thoughts, and the newness of this all was sobering you up.

A slow, approving smile spreads across his lips as he nods. Without another word, he goes to a cabinet, selecting a few items with deliberate care. When he returns, the scent of him envelops you as he carefully ties a blindfold around your head, plunging you into darkness.

You hear the soft rustle of fabric and the click of something plastic. Before you can dwell on it, the world goes silent as something is placed over your ears. The shift is sudden, disorienting. The subtle hum of the room, even the sound of your own breathing, everything fades away, leaving you in an almost eerie stillness.

The rope tugs uncomfortably, but not painfully, at your wrists, the tension in your arms pulling you taut. Your heart pounds, each beat echoing in your chest, reminding you of the vulnerability you’re allowing yourself. Then you feel it—a gentle tap on your jaw, followed by his thumb brushing against your lower lip, pulling it down slightly. You take the hint, opening your mouth for him. The next thing you feel is cool metal pressing against your lip as he slides a ring gag into place.

“If you need to stop,” he says after raising an ear of the sound-canceling headphones, “shake your head and I’ll check on you. Nod if you understand.”

Just as you do, the pad is back over your ear.

You feel the air shift as he moves around you. Deprived of your sight and sound, your body becomes hypersensitive to every touch, every brush of fabric, every subtle shift in temperature. The tension in the air is palpable, your anticipation growing with each passing second.

A light touch trails down your spine, causing you to shiver involuntarily. The sensation is followed by the warmth of his hand as it settles on your hip, steadying you. You can barely hear your own breath, the sound muffled and distant, heightening the sense of isolation. Then, a gentle tap against your inner thigh. You instinctively spread your legs, the vulnerability of the action sending a rush of heat through your body as his touch lingers, waiting.

Then, without warning, a sharp sting lands across your ass. Your body jerks in response, the sting quickly dissolving into a low, throbbing heat. The unexpected strike pulls a soft whimper from your gagged mouth, but before you can even process it, another comes, and then another, each one precise and measured.

The blows alternate with the soft caress of his hand, the contrast between pleasure and pain pushing you deeper into the headspace he’s crafting for you. The strikes aren’t overwhelming, but each one is enough to remind you of the power he holds in this moment, the control you’ve willingly surrendered.

You lose track of time, each sharp strike followed by soothing touches, the rhythm lulling you into a dazed, almost meditative state. The gag keeps your mouth open, forcing you to focus on the steady rhythm of your breathing, each inhale and exhale carrying a mix of adrenaline and endorphins. The warmth of saliva trickles from the corners of your mouth. The rhythmic stinging across your ass slowly transforms into a heated, throbbing warmth that radiates through your body. Each strike, followed by the soft caress of his hand, leaves you in a heightened state of arousal and anticipation, melding into pain and pleasure that lull you deeper into the experience.

Suddenly, the warmth of his touch disappears, and you’re left in disorienting solitude. The absence of his presence makes you acutely aware of the emptiness left behind, amplifying your anticipation. Without warning, you feel something cool against your inner thigh, followed by the unmistakable sensation of a vibrator pressed against your dripping cunt. It’s startling, and though you can’t hear it, you moan, loud and needy.

His hand is on your hip, steadying you as the vibrations increase in intensity. The buzzing becomes loud and clear as he gently pulls the headphones off, and you hear them thud as they fall somewhere. The sudden reintroduction to sound is jarring as the room’s noises flood back in—the loud hum of the vibrator, the sounds you hadn’t realized you were making, the now husky tone in his voice. Each sound is more vivid than before.

Eris’s voice breaks through this new sensory flood, warm and approving. “You’re doing so well for me, baby,” he murmurs, his tone a soothing balm. After being spanked, then paddled for God knows how long, between his calm, reassuring voice and the relentless vibrations against your cunt, you aren’t sure how long you’ll last.

His fingers replace the vibrator, brushing lightly against your clit. He teases your folds, just enough to drive you wild with need. You squirm against the rope, desperate for more contact, for release.

“You want more, don’t you?” Eris’s voice is low, almost a purr as he leans closer. His breath is warm against your ear. “Tell me what you need.”

He rubs slow circles against you, his fingers like fire against your skin. You try to articulate what you need, but the gag muffles your words into incoherent sounds. The frustration of being so close and unable to finish draws an exasperated groan from you, and he responds with a deep, dark chuckle. Eris’s touch withdraws entirely, leaving you in aching anticipation. The sudden absence of his touch is maddening, your body craving the completion he’s denying you. You can’t see him, but you can feel the warmth of his presence lingering near.

Minutes pass, or maybe just seconds—time has lost all meaning in this swirling haze of sensations. Without warning, you feel the sharp sting of a flogger grazing your inner thighs, just enough to remind you of his control. The flogger’s strikes alternate between gentle taps and more forceful hits, never quite enough to satisfy your growing desperation, but enough to keep you on edge. Each touch pulls you further into the comforting fog he’s woven, and your whimpers morph into sharp yelps of pain, each one more urgent than the last.

“Poor thing,” he murmurs, his voice laced with mock sympathy. “Does it hurt, baby?” His tone is tender, but there’s a sharp edge beneath it that promises much more pain.

You groan, the sound a mix of frustration and need, but Eris’s expression hardens. The flogger lands on your skin again, a sharp crack that reverberates through your body. He grips the hair at the nape of your neck tightly, yanking you closer until your breath mingles with his. You can feel the heat of him, the solid presence that’s both terrifying and intoxicating. His lips hover near your ear, his breath raising goosebumps on your skin.

“Do you have something to say?” he asks, his tone noticeably darker and more dangerous. There’s a tense, almost impatient edge to it, a sign that stepping out of line is not an option. “A complaint? Are you ungrateful for what I’m giving you?”

The flogger’s strikes become more deliberate, more vicious. Each one lands with a stinging, biting pain that blossoms across your skin, the sensations mingling with the ache of your muscles straining to hold the position he’s put you in. He’s toying with you, savoring your helplessness, the way your body trembles and arches under his control, the way your breath hitches in anticipation of each new strike.

“Who’s in charge?” he whispers in a slow, deep voice, every word dripping with malice. You try to answer, but the gag in your mouth turns your response into a pathetic, muffled sound. Your eyes squeeze shut in frustration, tears of helplessness welling up and quickly absorbed by the blindfold. You can’t form the words, can’t tell him what he wants to hear, and that only makes it worse.

He clicks his tongue, a sound of feigned disappointment, and tugs your hair again, forcing your head back. “Ah, couldn’t quite catch that,” he sneers, his eyes gleaming with dark amusement.

You whimper, the sound a pitiful mix of plea and frustration, and he chuckles, a dark, cruel sound that sends a fresh wave of heat pooling in your belly. He’s enjoying this — enjoying how easily you bend to his will, how every strike of the flogger makes you jerk forward with a cry. He wants to see it all, the way you crumble under his touch, the way you surrender every last shred of control and hand your worries away to him.

“I control how this goes,” he growls. “You said you’d be good for me, baby. Did you lie? Do I need to stop treating you like a good girl? Because I can do that if that’s what you want.” The flogger strikes down in the middle of your back with a crack that feels like it splits you open, and you cry out, the sound desperate. Your body lurches forward, but Eris’s hand is still in your hair, holding you in place, forcing you to stay still, to take every single lash he’s giving you.

“Look at you,” he hisses, his voice dripping with condescension. “So fucking needy. You love this, don’t you? Being my little toy, something I can break however I feel like.”

The words cut deep, the filth of them sending shockwaves through you. You hate how true they feel, how much you crave the pain, the degradation he’s giving you. The flogger strikes again, harder this time, and your knees almost buckle from the force of it. But you don’t fall. He won’t let you.

“Oh, you like when I treat you like this. You like this a lot better than before, I can tell. You’re just a fucking hole, aren’t you?” he continues. “A pretty little slut who’ll do anything to please me. Do you even have any shame left, or do you need me to fuck some sense into you?” The flogger descends again, and again, each strike punctuating his filthy words. “I’m going to break you, baby. Turn you into the perfect little slut who’ll take everything I give and then beg for more. And you’ll love it, won’t you? You’ll love being nothing but my whore, thinking about nothing except wanting my cock.”

Each word, each degrading, filthy word, sinks into your mind, pushing you further into the haze of submission. The pain of the flogger, the sting of his words, they’re all you can think about. Your world narrows to just him — his voice, his hands, the way he’s tearing you apart and building you back up, molding you into what he wants, what you need.

He pauses, the flogger still resting against your skin, the rough leather a reminder of what’s coming next. He drags it slowly down your back, letting it scrape over the welts he’s already raised. The sensation is entirely new, a subtle pleasure and pain that leaves you trembling.

“You feel it, don’t you?” he murmurs, his tone a bit gentler now, but still laced with that underlying cruelty. The change gives you whiplash. “I can see it. You want to be good for me, don’t you? You want to show me just how perfect you can be.”

The flogger strikes again, and you gasp, the sound a desperate cry. But this time, he doesn’t stop. He strikes again, and again, the rhythm relentless. Each lash pulls you further from the chaos of your thoughts, dragging you into a dark, twisted place where nothing exists but him. The pain and pleasure blend together until you can’t tell where one ends and the other begins.

“You’re going to remember this, baby,” he promises. “You’re going to remember how it feels to be mine, to be owned. And you’re going to beg me for it again, aren’t you? You’re going to come crawling back desperate for me to use you, to turn that pretty little mind off and break you all over again.”

He’s right. You can feel it, deep in your bones, in the way your body responds to him, in the way your mind clings to every word he says.

Eris’s eyes never leave your face, his gaze predatory as he watches you fall apart for him, unraveling under the weight of his dominance. You’re exactly where he wants you — lost in the moment, completely detached from anything and everything happening outside these walls. As the flogger comes down one last time, sending a final, searing wave of pain through your body, you know that this is exactly where you need to be tonight.

Finally, when you’re trembling, he lowers the flogger and returns to your clit, the light, teasing touch of his fingers reigniting the fire within you. “You feel that, baby?” he whispers, his tone teasing. “Feel how wet you are for me? You like when I hit you, don’t you?” He drags two fingers up your center, gathering your slickness on them before bringing them up to your open mouth. “How badly do you want to come?”

You nod, desperate to show him how much you need this, but he’s not finished with you yet. “Tongue out,” he purrs, his voice a low, silky command that sends a shiver through your already trembling body. Without a moment’s hesitation, you obey, sticking your tongue through the cold metal of the ring gag. A string of saliva spills out at the motion, glistening in the low light, and you hear a soft, satisfied exhale from him.

Eris drags his fingers down your tongue, cleans them off inside your mouth, pressing them against your tongue. “Can you taste how badly you want it?” His voice is a dark, teasing caress, each word wrapping around your mind, sinking deeper into that place where only his voice and touch matter.

You can’t respond, not even attempt to, but the question is rhetorical anyway. He doesn’t need an answer; he knows. He withdraws his fingers, leaving your mouth empty, yearning for more. The loss makes you whimper, as does the ache in your jaw — a pitiful sound that he savors as he continues, his tone a mix of mockery and care.

“You can taste how good I’m making you feel, how much you love it when I hurt you. You want to taste something better, baby?”

Before you can process what he means, you hear the familiar flick of a lighter, the soft his as the flame catches. Your heart thumps in anticipation. A moment later, the smell of weed fills the air, earthy and heady.

Eris takes a slow, deep drag from the joint, holding the smoke in his lungs for a moment before he leans in close. His lips brush against the edge of the gag as he exhales, blowing the smoke directly into your mouth. It’s so unexpected, so sudden, that you choke, your body convulsing slightly as you try to inhale and cough at the same time.

The thick, pungent smoke fills your lungs, burning them and reigniting your high. You can feel him watching you intently, relishing the way your body reacts.

“Breathe, baby,” he murmurs, his voice deceptively gentle. “I want to see how much you can take.”

Your chest heaves as you fight to draw in air through the second cloud of smoke he blows your way. He chuckles, and with an almost casual motion, he reaches up and unfastens the gag, pulling it away from your mouth. The relief is immediate, but it’s laced with the residue of his control, the taste of smoke lingering on your tongue.

“There we go,” he coos, running his thumb over your wet, trembling lips. “Such a good fucking girl, taking what I give you. But we’re not done yet, are we? No, you’re going to give me more, right?”

His thumb presses against your lower lip, parting your mouth slightly, and you instinctively suck on it, the action almost automatic. Your body responds to him without thought, driven purely by the need to please, to submit, to give him everything.

When he finally, finally begins to untie you, his hands are gentle but firm, his touch careful as he releases the ropes one by one. The sensation of freedom is almost overwhelming after being bound for so long. But before you can fully process it, his hands are on you — supporting you and guiding your arms back down slowly and carefully. He pulls the blindfold from your eyes, and you try to readjust to the lighting.

He’s taking another pull, holding the joint between his lips as he takes you in. But that isn’t what stops you in your tracks. At some point during your immobility, he’d rid himself of his shirt, and you couldn’t stop your eyes from taking him in. His hair is tied back into a bun, strands having fallen loose around his face, and his chest is covered in a glistening layer of sweat. Images of Eris spanking you, walking around you and assessing where to land the next blow, of the muscles in his arms flexing as he strikes. The hungry look in his eyes and the tightness of his jeans as he watches you writhe under his touch.

“How do you feel, baby?” he asks, his tone teasing with an undercurrent of genuine curiosity. “Did I get you there? That nice little headspace where it’s just you and me?”

His voice is soft, but there’s an edge of satisfaction in it as if he already knows the answer. “Did it help?” he continues, his fingers brushing against your cheek. “Did I get you out of that busy little head of yours?”

You nod, still dazed by the intensity of the experience. You’d felt blissful before, sure, but this was entirely different. This was unadulterated endorphins and adrenaline. He grins, the expression both proud and wicked. “Good,” he murmurs, his voice a soothing balm against the lingering sensations.

But he doesn’t stop there. He leans in, his lips brushing against your ear. “Now, let’s see how long I can keep you floating, yeah? You’re not done yet.” Eris tosses the flogger in the general direction of the shelf it goes on, and guides you with a commanding yet gentle touch to a mat on the other side of the room, placed in front of full-length mirrors. The surface underfoot is soft and inviting, and he helps you kneel in the center, the plush cushioning molding to your knees. He moves behind you, his hands brushing along your arms until they rest on your shoulders, a comforting weight as he leans in close. He hands you the joint, inviting you to take a few hits before handing it back. The smoke in your mouth, in your lungs, it only boosts the floating feeling you have from the experience of this all.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, his voice a low, velvety whisper that wraps around you like a warm embrace. “So beautiful, so ready. But I need you to understand something, sweetheart.” His hands slide down your arms until they reach your wrists, guiding them up to the back of your head. “I need you to be ready to trust me completely. How far I push you now is all about helping you relax, so you can completely lose yourself.”

He pauses, letting his words sink in, his breath warm against your ear. “This isn’t about making things difficult, not for either of us. It’s about you letting me guide you through this. I want you to be my good girl, to follow my lead and take everything I give you.”

His hands rest on your shoulders again, squeezing you lightly. “You’re going to do everything I ask, aren’t you? You’ll be obedient, you’ll let me push you, because you know I’m going to take care of you, don’t you?” His voice is soothing, like honey, and you can’t help but melt into it. “You’re going to give me all of you, every last bit, and in return, I’ll give you everything you need. Remember how you begged for this last time we were together? I want you to be that good girl for me again.”

As his words echo in your mind, you recall the last time you were with him, at Ianthe’s party. The memory is all too vivid — your desperate need, your willingness to surrender completely. You had been so open, so eager, voicing all your desires and pleas. The way you had let go of all inhibitions, the intensity of your submission, and the way your words had spilled out in a fervent, almost frenzied confession. The memory is as intoxicating now as it was then, all things considered.

His words are a gentle invitation, luring you in with a calm confidence that makes it impossible to say anything but yes. You feel hesitant as you consider the depth of your commitment. The tension in your chest tightens for a moment, but then you nod slowly, your voice soft. “Yes,” you murmur, the word barely a whisper but laden with an unspoken promise to embrace whatever he asks of you.

Eris’s fingers brush lightly over your hands, guiding you to interlace your fingers. He steps back to observe you, his eyes raking over your form, taking in every detail. The floor beneath you is hard, unforgiving, but his presence—his authority—keeps you grounded. The anticipation builds as he circles you slowly, like a predator assessing his prey.

“Knees wider," he orders, his voice still soft but with a firm undertone that brooks no disobedience. You adjust, spreading them further apart, feeling the strain as your muscles stretch. You watch him through the mirror, watch how he gives a satisfied smirk as you obey. You finally see how blissed out you look. A dewy sheen of sweat covers your body, your chest rises and falls deliciously with each breath, and your skin is red where you remember him flogging you. You couldn’t imagine what your ass and thighs looked like; red as fire, you imagined, if the lingering, stinging pain was anything to go by.

“Arch your back for me.” His hand is at the small of your back, applying gentle pressure until you curve just the way he wants. The uncomfortable position has you on edge, completely exposed, and yet there’s a strange comfort in the way he controls you, in how thoroughly he’s taking over your body and mind.

Eris takes his time, relishing the sight. “Look at you, already so perfect for me,” he purrs, his hand trailing down your spine in a slow caress that sends shivers through you. “You’re going to stay just like this, sweet girl, you hear me?”

You nod as he runs a hand over your head in a soft caress, trails that hand down your spine. Then, without warning, his touch sharpens—a sudden, firm grip on your hips, followed by the sting of his hand against your ass. The first slap is light, almost playful, but it quickly escalates. The next one lands harder, and he pauses to run his hand over the reddened skin, soothing it briefly before delivering another, even harder.

"Does it hurt, baby?" he teases, his voice a low murmur in your ear. "Or does it just make you want more?" He doesn't wait for an answer. Instead, he continues, alternating between sharp spanks and gentle caresses, pushing you to embrace the pain, to find pleasure in the way he’s handling you.

"You’re so good for me," he continues, his tone dripping with satisfaction. "Taking everything I give you. I bet you love it, don’t you? The way I’m making you feel?" He chuckles a bit at your lack of response. “You can speak now, sweetheart, I took the gag off for a reason.”

You hadn’t realized you’d been holding your breath. “Hurts…” you manage to whimper, your muscles shaking. “Hurts really good. I want more.” He spanks you again. Hard.

“Is that how good girls get what they want?” he asks, eyebrows furrowed and you recover from the sting of pain.

“No, I’m sorry,” you rush out, wincing from the pain of the spank, the soreness in your legs and arms. It’s too much. “Please, will you give me more?”

He takes one last, long drag from the joint, finishing it off and throwing the roach towards a bin. He drags his fingers down your back again, only to grip your hips and pull you further back, adjusting your position until you’re even more exposed, your knees straining to hold you up. The discomfort is intense, but the way he’s pushing you has you on the brink of something deeper, something more primal.

Finally, he moves in front of you, his eyes dark with intent. He cups your chin, lifting your gaze to meet his. "If you want more you’ll have to work for it, baby.” You nod eagerly and he smiles endearingly. “You’re going to show me just how badly you want me," he says, his voice a mix of tender command and raw desire. "And you’re going to do it the way I like."

He steps closer, guiding your face until your lips hover just in front of the zipper of his jeans. "Open that mouth wide for me," he coaxes, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip before pressing it down. "That’s it. Nice and wide."

You obey without hesitation, the need to please him overwhelming everything else. He pulls you into him, his hand resting over your interlaced ones, rubbing your face and mouth into the denim. You feel pride at the way his cock grows stiffer without having taken him into your mouth. You can only imagine how good it must feel to get fucked by that cock, to have it slam into you from below when you ride him, to take it so deep down your throat you can’t even taste his release. A low ‘Now, look at that’ pulls you out of your thoughts, and you look up to see his arms crossed over his chest.

“I don’t even have to ask you to keep going,” he says, his voice laced with arrogance. Your ears turn red with embarrassment when you realize you’ve been practically nuzzling your face against his cock, but oddly, there’s a twisted sense of contentment mingled with it.

He takes his time undoing the button and zipper of his jeans, mere centimeters from your still-open mouth. No one can make taking jeans off hot. No one except Eris, apparently. His fingers tangle in your hair, pulling you closer, but not too much—just enough to remind you who’s in charge.

Your breath catches in your throat at the sight of him. His cock is hard and throbbing, a rich, warm shade of pink with a slight flush at the tip. The girth is impressive, making your mouth water with anticipation. It stands proudly, the pre-cum at the tip glistening slightly under the dim light. You lean in, ready to take him into your mouth. The heat and tension in the air are palpable, and you’re just about to close your lips around him when he gently but firmly grips your hair.

"Not yet,” he murmurs, a playful edge in his voice. “You’re in a hurry, aren’t you? I haven’t given you permission yet.”

You pause, your lips hovering inches away from him. Your eyes flick up to meet his, a mixture of frustration and amusement dancing in your gaze. “You’re cruel, you know that?” You drop your arms, the strain of holding them there finally too much. He notices the shift, but to your relief, he doesn’t say anything, letting it slide.

Eris smirks. “Cruel? I prefer to think of it as… thorough. You wouldn’t want me to rush, would you? A little patience never hurt anyone.”

Your eyes narrow playfully. “Patience, huh? I expect a good reward afterward.”

He raises an eyebrow, his grip on your hair loosening slightly. “Is that so? And what kind of reward are you hoping for, baby?”

“Something a little more satisfying than just this,” you say with a teasing smirk, your wit finally returning after being silenced for so long. “I’m thinking you could make all this worth my while.”

Eris chuckles softly, looking down and relishing the view of his cock hovering over your face. “I will, without a doubt. But you need to be patient,” he repeats. His eyes linger on you as he shifts, rubbing his cock slowly against your cheeks and lips. The touch of his skin is warm and firm, and each movement is calculated, gliding with a teasing pressure. The pre-cum at the tip leaves a subtle, slick trail that only adds to your arousal.

You feel the ridges and veins of his cock brushing against your skin. His touch is firm but purposeful, making sure you feel every bit of his arousal. He takes pleasure in the way your lips part involuntarily, the way your breath hitches with each stroke. Eris’s breathing grows a bit heavier, his gaze intense as he watches your reactions, savoring the build-up and the control he exerts.

As he continues, he lightly traces his cock along your jawline and over your closed eyelids, creating a delicious blend of sensations. The warmth of him mingles with the coolness of the room, heightening the contrast between the two. He pauses occasionally, teasingly pressing his cock against your lips or rubbing it against your forehead, only to shift and start again.

Your need intensifies with each passing moment, the teasing just shy of maddening. You try to keep your composure, but the craving to have him in your mouth is overwhelming. Finally, unable to bear it any longer, you whisper, “Please… let me.”

Eris’s lips curl into a satisfied smirk, clearly pleased with your plea. “Now that’s what I like to hear,” he murmurs, his grip tightening slightly in your hair as he guides you closer. “Go on, baby.”

With a soft breath, you lean in, finally closing the small distance between you and him. The moment your lips wrap around the head of his cock, a soft groan escapes him, and it sends a thrill through your body.

Slowly, you take him deeper, your tongue gliding along his length, savoring the warmth and the weight of him. The slickness of his pre-cum makes it easier to slide him into your mouth, and you hollow your cheeks as you move. His fingers thread through your hair, guiding your rhythm, and you can feel the tension in his body, the barely contained control he holds over himself.

You focus on the sounds he makes—the low, husky breaths, the occasional hitch in his voice when you find a particularly sensitive spot. Each reaction spurs you on, encouraging you to take him deeper, to push the limits of your own control. Eris’s voice, rougher now with desire, breaks through the haze of your focus. “That’s it, just like that,” he praises, his grip on your hair loosening slightly to let you set the pace.

His hips start to move in time with your motions, a slow, steady thrust that matches the rhythm you’ve established. You relax your throat, taking him in further, feeling the head of his cock brush against the back of your throat. The sensation is overwhelming, yet you revel in it, the sheer intimacy of this act, the way you’re entirely at his mercy, yet completely in control of the pleasure you’re giving him.

Eris’s breathing grows more ragged, the tension coiling tighter within him. He watches you, his gaze heavy-lidded with lust, his usual composure slipping just enough for you to see how much he’s holding back. The knowledge that you’re the one drawing out these reactions from him makes you bolder, urging you to take him deeper, to drive him closer to the edge.

But just as you think he’s about to let go, he pulls back slightly, halting your movements. “Not yet,” he breathes, voice strained but firm. “I’m not done with you.” His words are a promise, and though you’re aching to continue, you obey, releasing him with a mix of anticipation and frustration.

Eris's hand slides from your hair to your cheek, his touch gentle now. He leans down, his lips brushing against your forehead in a brief, almost tender kiss before he straightens up. Without a word, he helps you to your feet, his hands steady and reassuring as they guide you toward the bed.

He lowers you onto the soft sheets with care. The roughness from before has melted away, replaced by something softer, almost reverent. As you settle onto the bed, Eris kneels at the edge, his hands gliding over your thighs, spreading them slowly.

He looks up at you, and there’s a tenderness in his eyes that makes your heart stutter. But just as quickly as it appeared, it fades away. He’s silent as he leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to the inside of your thigh, his lips lingering there for a moment before he continues, trailing soft, slow kisses up your leg. Each touch is feather light, as if he’s savoring every inch of you.

When he reaches your core, he pauses, his warm breath ghosting over your most sensitive spot. The anticipation is almost too much to bear, and you feel a shiver of desire run through you. But instead of diving in, Eris takes his time, pressing a soft kiss just above your clit, then another, slightly lower. His lips are gentle, tender.

Finally, his mouth closes around you, and he begins to work with a slow, deliberate pace, his tongue moving in languid strokes that send waves of pleasure through you. There’s no rush, no urgency—just a steady, sweet rhythm that makes you feel cherished in a way that takes your breath away.

His hands slide under your thighs, lifting them slightly as he brings you closer to his mouth, his tongue swirling in a way that’s both gentle and utterly consuming. Each movement is tender, every touch filled with a quiet, unspoken affection. He takes his time, coaxing soft moans from your lips with each delicate flick of his tongue, each gentle suckle.

The pleasure builds slowly, like a tide rising within you, and you can feel yourself teetering on the edge, not from overwhelming intensity, but from the sheer tenderness of it all. Eris’s name escapes your lips in a soft, breathy moan, and he hums in response, the vibrations sending a fresh wave of sensation coursing through you.

He doesn’t stop, doesn’t rush you to the peak, but lets you linger in the sweet, tender pleasure for as long as possible. It’s only when your body begins to tremble, when you’re right on the brink, that he finally picks up the pace, his tongue moving with a little more pressure, a little more focus, guiding you gently toward the release you’ve been craving.

And when you do fall, it’s into the softest, most blissful release, the kind that leaves you feeling weightless and utterly at peace. Eris stays with you through it all, his mouth never leaving you until the last tremor of pleasure has faded, and then he pulls back, pressing one final, lingering kiss to your trembling thigh. When he does pull away, it’s with a soft, almost reluctant sigh. He moves up your body with the same tender care, his hands trailing lightly over your skin, leaving a path of warmth in their wake. When his eyes meet yours, there’s a softness there.

Eris doesn’t rush. He leans down to kiss you, his lips brushing against yours in a way that’s more about comfort than urgency, more about reassurance than demand. His mouth moves slowly, languidly, tasting you as if he has all the time in the world.

Your hands find their way to his back, sliding up to tangle in his hair, pulling him closer as your body arches instinctively toward his. There’s a quiet, almost reverent intensity in the way he touches you, his hands moving to cradle your face as he deepens the kiss, his tongue sweeping against yours.

He shifts slightly, his hand sliding down to grip your thigh, hooking your leg around his waist as he settles between your thighs. You can feel the hard, insistent press of him against you, the heat of his skin melding with yours, and it sends a fresh wave of desire coursing through you.

“Are you ready?” he murmurs against your lips, his voice soft.

You nod, breathless, your eyes meeting his with a trust that’s unspoken but absolute.

Eris presses a soft kiss to your forehead before lining himself up with your entrance, and with one slow, deliberate thrust, he fills you completely. The sensation is overwhelming, a perfect blend of pleasure and comfort, and you can’t help the soft moan that escapes your lips as he begins to move.

He sets a gentle pace, his hips rolling in slow, deep strokes that leave you gasping. There’s no rush, no frantic rhythm — just a steady, measured movement that builds a different kind of tension. Eris’s hands cradle your face, his thumbs brushing gently over your cheeks as he watches you, his gaze never leaving yours. Each thrust is accompanied by a whispered word of encouragement, a soft murmur of praise that only heightens the intimacy between you.

Your bodies move together in perfect harmony, each roll of his hips sending sparks of pleasure shooting through you. The world narrows down to just the two of you, the softness of the sheets beneath you, the warmth of his body above you, and the gentle rhythm of your bodies coming together.

Eris leans down, his forehead pressing gently against yours, his breath warm and ragged as he moves inside you. “You feel so good,” he whispers, his voice husky, laced with a deep sense of awe. “So perfect.” His words send a shiver down your spine, the intensity of the moment wrapping around you both.

He shifts his angle slightly, his hips pressing deeper, and you gasp, your fingers digging into his shoulders. The new angle has him hitting just the right spot, each thrust making your toes curl with pleasure. “Eris…” you moan, the sound of his name on your lips seeming to spur him on.

“Right there?” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear as his hand trails down to grip your hip, holding you in place as he drives into you with slow, deliberate thrusts. “I want to hear you, baby. Tell me how it feels.”

“It’s so good,” you gasp, your voice trembling with the intensity of it all. “You’re perfect, Eris, just like that.”

His pace increases slightly, still measured but with a growing urgency that matches the heat building between you. Each thrust is powerful, and precise, and sends waves of pleasure rippling through your entire body. You can feel the sweat starting to slick your skin, your breaths coming out in short, desperate gasps as he brings you closer to the edge with every movement.

“Look at me,” he commands softly, his voice gentle yet firm, and when you do, you find his gaze locked on yours, his amber eyes dark with lust and something deeper, something that makes your heart stutter. “I want to see you when you come,” he adds, his voice dropping to a rough whisper, his thumb brushing tenderly across your cheek as his other hand slides between your bodies to find your clit.

The moment his fingers touch you, you’re lost. He circles your clit with slow, deliberate strokes that match the rhythm of his thrusts, his gaze never leaving yours, his lips curling into a knowing smile as he watches your reaction.

“Please…” The word slips from your lips before you can stop it, desperate for more, for everything he’s willing to give. Your hips lift to meet his thrusts, your body arching into his touch as the pressure builds inside you, coiling tighter and tighter until you feel like you’re about to snap.

“Please, what?” Eris’s voice is teasing, but there’s an edge of intensity there, a deep desire to hear you say it, to have you begging for him. “Tell me what you want, baby. I’ll give you anything.”

“Please, I want to come,” you gasp, your voice barely a whisper as the pleasure threatens to overwhelm you. “I need it, Eris, please.”

His eyes darken with satisfaction, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, teasing kiss as he picks up the pace, his fingers moving faster against your clit. “Then come for me,” he whispers against your lips, his voice thick with desire. “Come for me, baby. I want to feel you.”

That’s all it takes. The combination of his words, his touch, and the deep, steady thrusts of his cock send you spiraling over the edge, your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave. Your body clenches around him, your back arching off the bed as you cry out his name, the pleasure so intense it’s almost too much to bear.

Eris doesn’t let up, driving you through the waves of your orgasm with steady, unrelenting thrusts, his fingers never leaving your clit until you’re trembling beneath him, completely spent. He watches you the entire time, his gaze heated and possessive, a soft groan escaping his lips as he feels you come undone around him.

As your orgasm begins to subside, he leans down, capturing your lips in a deep, possessive kiss, his hips still moving with a slow, deliberate rhythm. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice rough and breathless. “So fucking perfect.”

You’re barely able to respond, your body still trembling from the aftershocks of your orgasm, but you manage to whisper his name, your hands gripping his shoulders as he continues to move inside you, his thrusts becoming more erratic, more urgent.

Eris doesn’t hesitate, sensing the way your body melts beneath him, still trembling from the intensity of your orgasm. With a smooth, practiced motion, he flips the two of you over, his hands guiding you to straddle his waist. Your limbs feel like jelly, weak and trembling, but he shushes you softly, his hands firm on your hips.

“It’s okay, baby,” he murmurs, his voice a soothing balm as he brushes your hair away from your face. “Just lay on me. I’ve got you. Let me take care of you.”

He pulls you down gently, your chest pressed against his as your head rests on his shoulder. His hands slide up and down your back, grounding you, before they settle on your hips again, holding you steady. You barely have time to catch your breath before he starts moving, his hips thrusting upward with powerful, controlled strokes.

The sensation is overwhelming as he fills you completely, the force of his thrusts sending waves of pleasure radiating through your body. You can feel every inch of him, the heat of his skin against yours, the strength of his body beneath you, and the way his cock drives up into you with unrelenting intensity.

“Eris…” you moan, your voice muffled against his neck as your fingers dig into his shoulders, holding on for dear life as he takes control.

“Shh, just feel me,” he whispers, his breath hot against your ear. His hands tighten on your hips, guiding your movements as he continues to thrust up into you, each stroke hitting deeper, harder. “Let me make you feel good.”

Your body responds instinctively, your hips moving in time with his as he drives into you over and over again. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, mingling with your gasps and his low groans, the intensity of it all threatening to unravel you once again.

He doesn’t stop, doesn’t let up, his pace relentless as he chases your pleasure. His hands roam your body, one sliding up to cradle the back of your head, pressing your face against his neck, while the other grips your waist, pulling you down onto him with every thrust.

“God, you feel so good,” he groans, his voice rough with need. “So tight, so perfect. You’re gonna make me come, baby. Just like that.”

The words send a fresh wave of heat through you, your body clenching around him as you feel yourself spiraling toward another climax. The intensity of his thrusts, the way he holds you so close, the deep, reverent way he whispers your name — it’s all too much.

“Eris, I’m…” you start, but the words dissolve into a moan as he slams up into you with a particularly hard thrust, your vision going white as another orgasm crashes over you, more intense than the last.

“Oh, you giving me another one, sweetheart?” he growls as he feels you tighten around him. “Let me feel you.”

Your body convulses in his arms as you shatter, the pleasure ripping through you with a force that leaves you breathless. Eris’s grip on you tightens, his own release just seconds behind yours as he thrusts up into you one last time, pulling out as he comes with a low, guttural groan, his cum spilling over your ass in hot, erratic bursts.

He holds you there, both of you trembling, your bodies entwined as you come down from the high together. His hands are gentle now, soothing as they trace patterns on your skin, his breath hot and ragged against your ear.

After the intensity of your release subsides, Eris’s touch becomes gentle and soothing. He cradles you in his arms, his fingers brushing tenderly over your back and sides as he presses soft kisses to your forehead.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice low and filled with concern. “You did so well, you know that?”

You nod, your body still shivering slightly from the aftershocks, but a soft smile plays on your lips. “I’m okay,” you whisper, your voice barely above a breath.

Eris gives you a reassuring smile, his hands moving soothingly up and down your back. “Good,” he murmurs, his tone tender. “I’m here. Just relax, let me take care of you.”

He carefully disentangles himself from you, his movements slow to avoid startling you. As he rises from the bed, he gently helps you shift so that you’re on your stomach, your hips slightly elevated. “Just a second,” he says softly.

Eris heads to a nearby cupboard, opening it to reveal a small, built-in towel warmer. He retrieves a warm, damp towel from inside, the comforting heat emanating from it as he brings it back to you.

He returns to the bed and carefully unfolds the towel, its warmth a welcome sensation. “I’m going to clean you up now, okay?” he asks gently but doesn’t wait for an answer as he begins to dab at your skin. The warmth of the towel is soothing, easing any lingering tension.

His hands are gentle as he tends to you. “You’re doing great,” he murmurs, his voice soft. “Just wanted to make sure you’re all clean and comfortable.”

Once he’s finished, he places the damp towel aside and returns to your side, pulling the comforter over you both. He settles next to you, pulling you close and pressing a tender kiss to the top of your head. You snuggle into his embrace, feeling the warmth and safety of his presence. His arms are steady and reassuring around you, and his murmurs of affection make you feel cherished and adored.

You finally find your voice, looking up at him with a tired but content smile. “That was incredible. I didn’t expect to feel so…” So good? So much? So intimate?

Eris grins, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

You snuggle closer, your head resting against his chest. “I feel like I’m floating. In a good way.” You mentally kick yourself — of course, it was in a good way. Who says floating in a bad way?

Eris wraps his arms around you a little tighter. “You deserve to feel this good. Just know I’m always here for you, not just for things like this, for whatever. Whatever you need, (y/n).”

You sink deeper into Eris’s embrace, the warmth of his body seeping into your own. The comforting weight of his arms and the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest lull you into a state of serene contentment. The intensity of the earlier moments fades into a gentle afterglow.

As you relax, your thoughts begin to wander, drifting back to the complexities of your life outside this moment. Cassian's name surfaces in your mind, but it's quickly followed by the image of him with Elain. The idea of them together interrupts your peace. It should sting, but somehow, it doesn’t.

Instead, the memory of Cassian and Elain feels distant, almost abstract, overshadowed. You'll deal with it another time.

You shift slightly, feeling the steady thump of his heartbeat. The world outside, with its complications and unresolved emotions, feels like it’s receding. In this moment, the only thing that matters is the warmth between you, the sense of being cared for, and the gentle hum of satisfaction that lingers from your shared intimacy.

Eris’s soft breathing and the comforting pressure of his touch anchor you, and you let yourself drift in the quiet aftermath, content that you’ve found a moment of peace and connection that you can hold onto.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

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bullet-prooflove · 7 months

Note

"I dream of this life, with you" ❤️

It’s on a lazy Sunday morning in bed that Omar realises he wants to take the next step in your relationship. You’re cuddled up into his side, your thumb lightly tracing circles across his abdomen. His lips brush over your forehead and you make that sweet little noise, the one he knows means you’re happy, content.

“Do you ever think you’d wanna make this permanent?” He says softly, his fingertips tracing languid patterns across your shoulders. “Getting a bigger place together somewhere in Queens or Brooklyn.”

“Queens is closer to your mom.” You murmur, your lips brushing over the hollow of his throat.

“That’s why I was thinking Brooklyn.” He says half seriously.

He hasn’t spoken to her since the last time the two of you went over there, you’d tried to broker the peace, it’s your way but he still can’t forgive her for what she’d done, what she’d tried to do.

He’d gone to the bathroom to wash his hands and come back to find you excusing yourself due to a ‘work emergency’. He had known you weren’t on call that night, and if that wasn’t a sign that his mother had done something, the watery eyes and your tense shoulders would have been a giveaway. He’d offered to give you a ride, but you already had an Uber pulling up outside.

It hadn’t taken long to get the story out of his mother. She wasn’t ashamed of what she did, in her eyes she’s simply looking out for her son.

“I told her the truth.” She says as she sets the table. “If she can’t bare your children she needs to let you go. She’s a lovely girl Habibi, but she’s not for you, she’s not someone you can build a future with.”

He’d walked out then because what his mother had done, it was beyond cruel. He had told her your history in confidence as a way to circumvent the inevitable grandchildren conversation and she had thrown it in your face.

It was the next day you had tried to end things with him.

“She’s right.” You say quietly as you play with the sleeves of your white sweater. “You deserve someone who can give you a family and I… I can’t do that.”

“Hanna, I don’t need that.” He had told you, his hands reaching out across the table for yours. “If it’s something we decide we want in the future we can explore our options, fostering, adoption, surrogacy, a family doesn’t have to look the way my mother thinks it should.”

“Omar…” You begin but the look in his eyes makes you trail off because there’s such earnestness in them. He means what he says, starting a family doesn’t have to mean getting pregnant, so long as he’s with you he doesn’t care how it happens.

“You are enough for me.” He tells you, his thumb chasing over your ring finger. “What we have right now, that’s enough for me.”

Your voice draws him out of the memory, you’ve propped your head up on the pillow so that you can read the expression on his face.

“How about I go make us some coffee?” You suggest, your lips brushing over his bare shoulder. “And you can start looking up listings on your laptop.”

His entire face lights up as it dawns on him that you’ve just answered his question.

“Are you saying that you want to move in together?” He murmurs, his hands threading through your hair as he draws you close.

“Were you serious?” You ask him as his forehead comes to rest upon yours. “About what the future looks like for us?”

“You know I am.” He tells you, his thumb tracing over the apple of your cheek. “Any future I have, I want it to be with you.”

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featherandferns · 1 year

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surfs up (fic)

jj maybank x fem!reader | part of the F.W.B universe, but can be read as a standalone too!

content warning: drug use; mentions/discussions of sex

word count: 4k.

blurb: you meet JJ's friends. whilst Kiara and Sarah grill you about your boyfriend, John B and Pope are still trying to wrap their heads around the fact that you've managed to tie JJ down.

The mirror could do with a clean. You look past the smudges and marks on the glass to focus on parting your hair with a comb. It’s freshly washed and wet, dripping down your bare back.

“Do you have to do that naked? It’s like torture,” JJ complains from the bed.

You don’t look away from your handy work as you reply. “You know, if we go to war, and you get captured, you’re in for a big shock.”

JJ hurls a pillow towards you and it hits you in the side before you have time to dodge, making you laugh.

“I don’t understand why you’re styling your hair anyway. We’re going surfing,” he says.

“I always style my hair.”

“I don’t get why. I mean, I never style mine."

Turning around to take him in, you reply, sarcastically, “you don’t say.”

JJ’s laid on his back on the bed, naked save from his boxers, eyes closed, his hair pointing in any which way. You know that for him, getting ready will consist of switching into some swim shorts, pulling on one of the many tee-shirts on the floor (that won’t stay tidy, no matter how hard you try), and shoving a cap over his unruly hair. You watch as his hand lazily searches for another pillow to toss, coming up short. A vape gets thrown instead, hitting your thigh.

“Ow.”

“Sorry.”

Looking back to the mirror, you thread the comb through some strands, encouraging them to fall the right side of your head.

“Your hair's just gonna get wet anyway. I don’t know why you’re bother-Oh.”

“What?” you grumble, not liking how his voice has suddenly dropped off. He doesn’t reply. Starts giggling to himself like a schoolgirl. You roll your eyes, looking to him again. “What?”

“You tryn’a look pretty for my friends?”

“Shut up.”

“You are! You wanna look pretty for when you meet them!”

“Shut up!” you repeat, louder. Your face is flushing hot with embarrassment. “I just wanna make a good first impression.”

“Babe, they're so chill, you could walk in half naked and it’d make a good impression. I mean, you basically already did with John B.”

“Please don’t remind me of that,” you whine.

The comb gets dumped on the dresser. JJ’s grinning at you from the bed – you can see his pearly whites reflecting in the mirror – and you somehow refrain from rolling your eyes again. Okay, sure, maybe you are spending a bit more time than usual on how you look and are overthinking how you’re going to dress for this chill-out-surf-day on the beach…But you want JJ’s friends to like you. Think good of you.

JJ hasn’t let up on teasing you. In silent retaliation, when you reach down to collect a tee shirt from the ground, you make a show to bend over forwards, the back of your legs facing him. JJ groans.

“That’s just mean.”

“What is?” you ask innocently, standing upright again, tee shirt in hand.

“You’re not playing fair,” JJ tells you.

Smirking, you open a dresser draw and shove in the tee. There’s no point wasting time folding it, as it’s only going to end up on the bedroom floor again by tomorrow. Opening the second drawer, you dig through your clothes that have gradually accumulated in JJ’s room at the chateau. Digging out a two-piece and a pair of shorts, you move to get dressed.

“Do you think we got time for a quickie?” JJ asks.

You bark out a laugh. “We really don’t.”

“Sure we do. Please.”

“Are you seriously begging me to have a quickie with you-” you glance to the bedside table’s clock, reading the time “-ten minutes after we said we’d meet your friends outside?”

JJ shrugs, sitting up. “I’m very fast.”

“That’s usually not the kind of thing guys brag about,” you remind him.

Your shorts are on now, and you reach around to tie the back of your bikini top.

“I’m serious. In and out, I swear. Two minutes tops.”

“And they say romance is dead.”

“Baby…”

“JJ,” you mimic. “No means no.”

He grunts and flops back on the bed, dramatic. You grab at another tee shirt on the floor (I mean, are these things multiplying?) and toss it at him. It lands on his face and he groans.

“Get dressed. I’m gonna brush my teeth.”

“Boo.”

You laugh to yourself as you walk out his bedroom, into the bathroom. As you brush, you inspect your face for any blemishes, and your hair for any stray strands which have fallen away. There’s a nervous thrum in your chest, over-layed with excitement; similar to the kind you get before a match.

You know JJ’s friends are far from snobbish. They’re perhaps the most easy-going people on earth. But earning their approval weirdly means a lot to you. Maybe it’s because JJ doesn’t seem very close with his family – at least, he never talks about them with you – so this feels akin to meeting the parents. You also have a sense that his friends inform a lot of his thoughts and decisions, and so if you were to slip up, maybe they’d somehow convince him to leave you. Whilst the pair of you have only been official for a couple of weeks, nearing to a month, you already feel how attached you’re becoming to him. How you save your dirtiest jokes for him and make a mental note of any anecdote at work that you know will have him in stiches. And the sex is better than it ever was before.

By the time you’re done in the bathroom, JJ’s pulling on his boots. He’s dressed in an old work muscle-tee and some swim shorts (just as you suspected) and there’s a cap waiting on his bed. The red one. You smile, sit down and pick it up.

“Think this is my favourite one,” you tell him. You inspect the front and read the branding.

JJ takes it from you and places it on your head, pushing down on the lip of the cap so it blocks your vision. Makes you laugh.

“Looks good on you too,” he says. “Not as good as I look on you…”

“We’re not having a quickie, JJ.”

“Damn it. Ah well, worth a shot.”

You take off the cap and hand it back to him, getting up. JJ’s kicking your trainers towards you and you slide them on rather easy, without having to untie the laces. Then the two of you are heading out the house and out the front door. The butterflies that had momentarily let up in the bedroom are back, beating their wings in full force at the sight of his friends gathered around the back of the house. Kiara is sat in the hammock, scrolling on her phone, and Sarah is half-laying at her feet. Pope is lent against the tree. He’s talking to John B, who’s sat on one of the low deckchairs, eyes closed and nodding along. JJ whistles as the two of you approach, catching their attention. When their heads turn to look at you, it makes you think of hawks fixating on prey.

“Yo. Good to go?”

“Only been waiting for ten minutes,” Pope says.

“Wasn’t it Newton who said time is relative?”

“No. That was Einstein, genius,” Pope corrects.

JJ rolls his eyes. “Whatever. We’re here now.”

Sarah’s on her feet, walking over to you, smiling with a hand outstretched. “Hi! I’m Sarah!”

“Hi,” you smile, shaking her hand, introducing yourself. Kiara follows second. Pope nods at you from the tree, introducing himself, and John B gives a small wave.

“We’ve technically already met,” he says, making you laugh through your embarrassment.

“Technically.”

“Come on!” Kiara’s calling, half-way to the twinkie. “We’re missing all the good waves!”

“Who’s got the cooler?”

“Already packed."

"Yeah, we had some time to kill...”

“Boards?”

“Attached to the roof.”

“I mean, can you seriously not see them? You do have eyes, right?”

“Shut it, Pope.”

You tag behind the gang, barely following their constant banter, chuckling at the antics. It seems they have a routine. John B and Sarah climb in the front, the former sitting behind the steering wheel. Kiara slides open the back door and her and Pope climb in first, taking the back seat. JJ offers you a hand as you step in. You take the spot nearest the steering wheel – a strange box-like podium that you imagine is hollow for storage – whilst JJ slides the door shut. He sits near your feet, leant against the wall of the front seats. The engine has spluttered to life and the radio begins to play Marley. The gang gives a few whoops of excitement as you set off towards the beach, away from the marsh.

By the time you pull up to the beach, Pope has explained the theory of the universe; JJ and John B have gotten into a brief, fleeting argument about whether Atlantis could be real; Sarah reminisced about the last time she went surfing; and Kiara has gone on a semi-heated tangent about litter on the beaches. Your cheeks ache from smiling and laughing. Whilst you haven’t fully stuck your neck out yet to join in, you’re content just listening to the gang bicker and beam.

As the engine shuts off, JJ reaches down to squeeze a hand on your shoulder. “Ready to ruin your hair?”

Mirthfully, you roll your eyes. “Can’t look any worse than yours.”

Pope ooo’s at the burn whilst Kiara whistles lowly, grinning.

Then everyone’s getting to their feet, hopping out the car, retrieving gear and supplies to lug down onto the sand. JJ carries his board and the cooler, and you lug the paddle board and a tote bag of snacks. John B and Sarah settle on a good spot, just shy of the dunes, far enough from the water that there’d be plenty of time before the tide comes in to pack up and leave. As everyone starts to dump the stuff, Kiara pulls out a blanket to lay out. A speaker beeps to life and Pope connects. Classics ranging from the sixties through to the noughts begin to play, encapsulating the feeling of summer. It’s hot under the sun but not uncomfortable. There’s a slight breeze that could catch someone out with thinking they’d avoid a sunburn.

“Who’s up for some waves?” JJ asks, pulling off his tee.

“Hell yeah,” John B grins.

“I’m in,” Pope agrees.

Sarah’s situated herself on the rag-tag blanket, pulling out a nail file. “I’m gonna wait a bit longer.”

Kiara is pulling out a joint and lounging back on the sand. It’s answer enough that she’s skipping out for now.

You decide to stay with the girls; wait for the waves to build some more. The guys begin to race towards the water, JJ cracking a joke to John B that earns him a shove. You shake your head as you watch the trio go. Searching around in one of the tote bags, you retrieve a packet of pretzels chips and pull it open.

“Thanks for letting me tag along today,” you say to the two girls.

“What’d you mean tag along?” Kiara frowns.

“We’ve been begging to meet you ever since JJ started hooking up with you,” Sarah tells you.

You chuckle, sceptical. “Wait? Really?”

“Yeah!” the girls chorus, making the three of you laugh.

“God, that boy is so whipped, it’s gross,” Kiara snorts.

“It’s adorable!” Sarah corrects.

Offering around the bag to the two of them, you frown. “I don’t know about whipped…”

“Girl, you didn’t hear him,” Sarah says, amused. “After you two had been hooking up for like two weeks, he started talking about you all the time. It was hilarious.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, but he’d do it in a way that he didn’t realise he was. Like he’d just randomly have to add little bits and pieces about you into conversations,” Kiara continues.

“Thanks to him we know your favourite sandwich.”

“And your favourite colour.”

“Favourite TV show…”

“Alright, alright, I get it,” you laugh. Your face feels burning hot. Glancing out to the waves, spotting the three guys wading out on their boards, you smile to yourself. You never knew that. “That’s kinda sweet, actually.”

“So…he treating you well?” Kiara asks.

You look back to them and smile, nodding.

“It’s so weird for me. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this way about someone before. I mean, I’ve cared a lot for people, but only like my parents and stuff. And, for most people, you’re born with that sort of affection for them, you know? But with JJ…I just felt it sort of grow until I couldn’t imagine going a day without seeing him.”

The moment the words leave your mouth, you cringe. Laughing in spite of yourself, you add, “sorry. That was gross.”

“It was adorable!” Sarah is practically giddy. Kiara and you laugh. “We’ve been waiting for the right girl to get to him.”

“I knew he was a romantic at heart,” Kiara nods in agreement.

“Wait. Is he romantic?” Sarah asks, looking to you once more.

You grab another pretzel and eat it as you think.

“I guess. We’re not really the mushy-shit type couple. But he’s kind of thoughtful. Does these little things for me sometimes. Like, I told him that I used to have chocolate-covered strawberries with my nana on picnics when I was younger, and that they remind me of her. I don’t even know how it came up, really. But the next day he’d made me some as a surprise. It was kinda sweet.”

“No doy – his love language is acts of service,” Kiara shrugs. She flicks on her lighter.

“What’d you mean?”

“Like, he expresses his love and affection for people through actions,” she tells you. “I’m telling you, that’s what it is.”

“What are the other types of love language again?” Sarah wonders.

“Lemme think. There’s gift giving, words of affirmation…”

As Kiara continues to list them off, you look out to the water and mull it over. You catch sight of JJ surfing, dipping in and out of the waves, weightless like a feather, as if he were born and bred on the water. You’d played down the chocolate covered strawberries story. There was more to it then him just doing it out of the blue.

That night, the two of you had decided to watch a movie. An old classic came on – one of the Monroe films – and you went into this random spiel about how your nana used to be the biggest Monroe fan. That went into JJ asking about your family, and you nana, and you telling the chocolate strawberries story. You got a little tearful at the memory, knowing that you wouldn’t have a moment like that with her again, and JJ made a point to tell an embarrassing story from middle school gym to cheer you up. The night had gone on and you didn’t think much more of it. The next day, JJ texted you to meet him in the marsh. When you arrived, there was a blanket laid out and some snacks and drinks (mostly beer) laid out. He seemed somewhat embarrassed, as if worried it was too much. The two of you hadn’t really done an official date: mostly movie-nights and sometimes grabbing lunch purely out of hunger. But you’d never had someone do something like that for you. Then, bashful, he'd opened up a Tupperware and held it out to you, offering you a chocolate covered strawberry. Come to think, it might have been the most romantic thing anybody had ever done for you.

But telling the girls all of that felt like you might take something away from the memory. You knew JJ liked his reputation. You understood, having one of your own somewhat. The fact that he had done it without being prompted, out of the kindness of his heart and his feelings for you…It made you feel special and wanted. And what other feeling do humans crave from another, other than that? No. You’ll keep those details to yourself. They can just know about the strawberries.

“No, no, John B’s definitely a words of affirmation sort,” Sarah is saying pointedly.

Kiara’s shaking her head in disagreement. “Quality time, all the way.”

“Quality time’s Pope’s thing,” the blonde argues.

“He’s surprisingly really into words of affirmation, in his awkward Pope-ish way,” Kiara informs, taking a drag.

“Wait, I’m confused. Are you and Pope a thing?” you can’t help but ask Kiara.

She looks away from both you and Sarah as she takes another hit. The smell of weed is gradually building. “Not exactly.”

“That’s not a no,” Sarah grins, teasingly.

“And it’s not a yes,” she affirms, shooting a glare. It softens, as she struggles to find her words. “It’s a…”

“Complicated?” you offer.

She smiles at you, grateful. “Yeah. 'Complicated’.”

“I know complicated,” you chuckle. “Used to be the queen of complicated.”

“You mean like before you and JJ were official?” Sarah wonders.

You nod. Resting back on your bent arms, you sigh.

“It was so hard to tell where we stood sometimes. And whenever I’d try and start up a conversation about it, he’d get all weird and defensive and stuff.”

“Yep. That sounds like JJ,” Kiara chuckles, a little sadly.

“For the record,” Sarah chimes in. “I knew he liked you from the first time he got with you.”

“Oh?”

“Oh yeah. He just seemed lighter. Happier.”

“Sex does that to people,” you chuckle, brushing it off.

“No, I’m telling you. He was a goner from the start.”

“Did you forget the sandwich-colour-TV-show story?”

You laugh, waving them away. “I’m just pretty decent in bed, is all.”

“No kidding. You know what JJ says right?”

“Huh?”

“You don’t know!?”

“What? What don’t I know?” you worry, sitting up again.

Kiara and Sarah are making faces at each other, laughing. You confusion twists into anxiety that eases the moment Sarah looks at you again.

“Okay, okay, so we’re hanging out at the chateau one night, right?” she begins.

“And JJ’s drunk as a skunk, okay? Like really wasted.”

“And high.”

“Yeah, and high,” Kiara nods, chuckling at the memory. “So John B asks about who the girl he accidentally bumped into the hallway was, the other night.”

You throw your face into your hands with a groan. Are you ever going to live that down?

“Well, at first JJ tries to act all casual. Says you’re this side-chick he’s seeing,” Sarah continues.

“But for some reason, John B thinks that’s not the whole truth. So he starts pushing at him.”

“Eventually it all just kicks off until JJ lets slip that you’re the best sex he’s ever had,” Sarah finishes, smirking at you, almost like she’s proud.

You’re human. The indirect compliment goes straight to your head and makes it grow about ten times in size. Fighting and failing to hold off a grin, you check you heard them right.

“Really?”

The two girls nod enthusiastically.

“And, of course, we’ve never let him live it down,” Kiara smiles, sweet like a pageant queen.

Your teeth sink into your lower lip as you chuckle to yourself. This whole time, with his stupid little game of ‘best you’ve ever had?’ that he kicks up nearly every time the two of you hook-up, came from a part of him wondering if it was as good for you as it was for him. If he’s alone in feeling that way.

“I came up with the theory – which, proved to correct, might I add? – that the reason why the sex was so good is cause he had feelings for you,” Sarah proudly proclaims.

Kiara rolls her eyes as she says, “But you know JJ--”

The three of you chorus through a laugh: “deny, deny, deny.”

With that, all three of you are in hysterics. Your ribs begin to hurt from laughter. As you revel in the wonderful pain, you wonder if you’ve ever felt so at ease in your life before. It wasn’t that you didn’t have friends, but you didn’t have a group of them like this. Just people here and there who you could vent to and grab coffee with and such. But these girls liked you, and they found you funny, and they cared about what you had to say. Tied in with the added benefit of having JJ, everything felt like it was aligning just as it should.

Flopping back onto the towel, you smile at the afternoon sky. No clouds and no birds. Just endless, stretching blue.

“He’s the best sex I’ve ever had too,” you quietly confess.

The girls’ lingering giggles pause before kicking up, tenfold.

“Wait? Really?”

“Yeah,” you grin, nodding. He was. Easily. “But you tell him that, and I’ll deny it. I like that he doesn’t really know. Only has a hunch.”

“Oh yeah,” Kiara affirms. “We can’t ever give guys the satisfaction of thinking they’re actually good in bed.”

“It’s like the one thing we have,” Sarah winks.

The three of you collapse into giggles again.

~*~*~*~*~*

“What’d you think they’re talking about?” Pope asks, looking out to the shore at the girls.

The three guys are taking a moment to rest, sitting on their boards, legs dangling in the water. JJ can see you, lying on your back, basking in the sun. Sometimes your combined laughter is loud enough to travel out to the water. He feels like he can make out your distinct giggle easily.

“School maybe?” Pope continues to wonder.

“Dude, they’re one hundred percent talking about us,” JJ declares. “I bet my board on it.”

“You think so?”

“JJ’s right,” John B sighs, nodding. “I feel like Sarah and Kie have been dying to grill your girl for ages.”

JJ’s heart feels like it skips at beat at the phrase 'your girl. He never thought he’d hear someone say that to him. Never thought it would make him so happy to hear it. Huh.

“It’s weird seeing you in a relationship,” Pope says, as if reading his mind.

JJ frowns. “What? Like it’s hard to picture someone wanting to date me?”

“No, you moron. Hard to picture you settling for one girl. Honestly, I was worried you had nymphomania or something."

“Nympha-who-now?”

“It’s an addiction to sex,” Pope clarifies impatiently.

JJ grins, smug. “I mean, can’t say that I don’t have that.”

“JJ. Gross.”

“What? Like it’s a secret or something? You’re just jealous, Pope. Gotta get your dick wet,” JJ shrugs.

Now John B’s cringing. “Gross, JJ.”

“So conservative,” he jests, lying back on his board. Clasping his hands over his bare stomach that’s beginning to dry under the rays, he gazes up at the clear sky. “My girl treats me good. Not gonna apologise for bragging about it.”

“But you do you gotta do it in such a crude way?” Pope almost whines. JJ flips him off half-arsed.

“Never thought I’d see the day when JJ was pussy-whipped, but here I sit,” John B says. JJ flips him off too for good measure, then lets both arms flop back onto his stomach.

There’s your laugh again. Makes him smile.

“You guys like her though, right?” he can’t help but ask, after a moment of quiet. Nothing but the waves licking at the boards.

“Yeah, man,” John B says.

“Course,” Pope seconds. ��I think she’s a good match for you. And your out-of-control libido.”

“Pope, I swear to God, you say one more million-dollar-word and I’ll drown you.”

~*~*~*~*~*

As the afternoon turns to dusk, the beach day continues. The guys return to land and the girls take the boards out on the waves. You revive your chats from the beach out on the water, drifting into new topics outside of boys: like boxing and school and work and activism. By the time you’re walking back onto the shore, the boys have started up a fire. JJ offers you a sip of his beer as you ditch your board. You smile and accept, moving to sit between his legs. He wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you against him, and takes the bottle back to have another swig. Sarah settles with John B, and Kiara lounges back, her feet placed on Pope’s lap.

The music lulls out well-known hits (Come on Eileen, Build Me Up Buttercup, and the never-ending American Pie) and you bask in the warmth of the embers from the fire, drying off any speck of salt water. The bottle keeps getting handed back and forth between you and JJ, and eventually a joint joins the mix. The conversation turns easy, light-hearted jokes enhanced by the booze and weed, making everyone chuckle. Sighing, you lean your head back against JJ’s collarbones, looking up at him. He glances down at you, smiles, places a quick kiss on your lips. When his friends gently heckle the two of you, neither of you respond. As he pulls away, JJ rolls his eyes at their antics. Closing your eyes, quietly chuckling at something Pope says, you enjoy the wonderfulness of summer and your boyfriend, never wanting either thing to end.

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uzumaki-rebellion · 9 months

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Fanfic Writers...

So earlier I was reading a thread about Fanfic writers abandoning their fics, or deleting their accounts when they were no longer interested in writing anymore, because they felt the need to move on to other things (other types of writing, or life is lifing, etc), and I have to say this...don't delete your fics.

You never know wo needs to read that story (completed or not) years from now after you have forgotten/abandoned them.

Lemme give you an example.

Years ago, after the new Star Trek reboot came out in 2009 I was busy working a difficult job and struggling to write anything and just make a living. I'd always been a Star Trek fan since I was little. LIke seriously, I had a Klingon language handbook in highschool, I own a Star Trek cocktail dress, a messenger, bag, and a tiny replica of the Enterprise (that used to light up). I hadn't read or written fanifics in years, so I was out of touch with the fandom. When the reboot movie came out, I loved it, but I had hit a rough patch in a long term relationship, a lot of my friends were moving away to different cities and countries, and I was feeling depressed and not really finding much happiness.

About six years after the first reboot movie came out, I tried to find and old livejournal account I had that I used to write Blade, X Files, Star Trek, & other fics with. Perusing fandoms I dipped back into looking at new Star Trek content on other fanfiction websites and stumbled across some great new Star Trek fics that were amazing (My thing was the Spock/Uhura pairing). Baybee, when I tell you those stories from various writers lifted my spirits and gave me something to look forward to at the end of a hard day or week of draining work! I laughed, cried, fell in love, felt enraged, surprised, and so many emotions reading made up stories from strangers all over the world. A lot of these fics had been abandoned or the writers had left the fandom and weren't writing anymore by the time I found them...but I still had their stories. One particular writer had a 4 book Star Trek series that was better than the studio sanctioned movie book adapatations I bought at SF/F conventions or online. Just A+ writing and wordbuilding.

Reading those fics bolstered my confidence (and dopamine) to go back to living life again as best I could, and also writing my own fanfics again. I took time to write this particular writer to tell her thank you. I never heard from her (didn't expect to), but I was grateful to be able to read their work over and over again when I was feeling low, or needed to revisit old familiar friends.

All this to say, pleadingly so, don't delete your stories. Someone years from now, someone like me, may find your work and latch onto it as their lifeline to keep on getting up in the morning...have something to come home to. Or need that story you made up on the fly to give them a new way of looking at the world that will help them cope and keeping trying to make it out here.

Your stories are needed, your unique voices are needed on here, even if you no longer write anything for fandoms.

Le Fin.

#Writerly Things #Readerly Things #Don't Delete Your Work #You might save a life

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enluv · 1 year

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004: YOU DATED MY GF? (read: soobin’s backstory)

– genre: written content & smau

– wc: 1.2k + (sorry babes ilysm muah!)

– warnings: angst, deception, feelings of not being enough and depression(?), privacy violations, drama, lmk if I missed something!

Four pairs of eyes watch as he paces throughout the living room, gnawing at the once smooth skin around the bed of his nails, Soobin is mentally preparing himself to be lectured at his next shoot by his manager for messing up his “perfect hands”.

The thread is fresh on his mind, and while he appreciated the boys allowing him to tell his side of the story, he wasn’t sure what more to say.

He wanted to tell them the full truth but he wasn’t sure how they’d take it, he’s known them most of his life now. As he started becoming the person he wanted to be they stood by him every step of the way but for sometime before, he was alone, stuck with the idea that he’d be going nowhere, he’d be some boring guy with some boring beige job that he’d hate but that at the very least provided him what he needed to live comfortably, and then his life was completely turned around and he hadn’t looked back since.

“Soobin, you’re my best friend but I need you to tell us the truth about this Y/N situation, she’s my friend too, a really good one.”

Beomgyu speaks up first, and Soobin is suddenly taken back to when he’d first uttered your name to him, he’d excitedly talked about the event he had just went to a few days prior and how it would have been so boring but he had made a friend, a friend named Y/N, “she makes music and she’s super freaking cool.” Soobin’s heart sunk as he mustered up a smile, congratulating Beomgyu for making a new friend, something he surprisingly had a hard time doing back then.

“What you all read wasn’t completely false, but it left out a lot of key information that only Y/N and I knew,” he pauses and finds his way back in front of the boys, “When I met Y/N she hadn’t started making music yet, and I didn’t know any of you, I had completely different friends who had the worst influence on me and I was in a place in life where I just didn’t know where I was going or what I wanted to do. I was convinced I’d live a boring life with a boring job that I hated.” He sighs and takes a seat on the rug in front of the boys.

“The thread was right, I wasn’t ready to commit to anyone, but what it didn’t mention was that Y/N understood that and she was okay with it, our relationship was friends with benefits like but as time went on it began to change for me, and for her too, I know because she told me but you guys know, Y/N is an amazing person, her music is amazing and when she started to get bigger I didn’t want bring her down.”

“What do you mean by bring her down?” It’s Taehyun who asks first.

“She was going places, that much was obvious when she started getting offers and deals, and then suddenly I got this realization that I’d just be a distraction for her if we started something serious. She kept telling me how much I helped her and how inspiring I was but I hadn’t done anything for her and it made me so mad because here she was, this amazing person who deserved the world and here I was, literally a nobody who couldn’t even give her commitment.”

“Bro you were too hard on yourself, she obviously really liked you.”

“And I understand that now gyu but at the time I seriously had nothing going for me, I hadn’t signed my contract yet, I hadn’t met you all, and I was still stuck back home.” His eyes are glued to the small rug hairs under him, fingers plucking at them to help distract himself from the raw nail beds he bit away at while explaining his side of things.

“Okay so I understand what you’re telling us and I obviously believe you but what happened after? Why does she seem to be so hurt by you?”

“Because the night she released lowkey, you know the song that blew up for her, she asked me if we could be official and I lied to her, I told her that I didn’t want to be committed to anyone and that I’d been seeing someone else while also being with her, but it was all lies, I just didn’t want to drag her down, especially because she was just starting her career. I wanted at least one of us to make it out that life, you know?”

“You’re an idiot.”

“I know that Yeonjun.”

“Shut up and let me finish, you’re an idiot because Y/N loved you so much, and I understand that you felt some type of way because you hadn’t figured out your life yet but be serious for one second, who the fuck has ever figured their life out right out of high school? You were nineteen years old Soobin. I mean look where you are now, you made it out, you’re here doing a fun not boring job with cool ass people, meaning as all of us, Y/N didn’t deserve that kind of heartbreak Soobin, she deserved a proper break up or even just a truthful explanation.”

Soobin nods at his words, he knows that and he even knows just how awful he was for lying, he’d think about it every time he listened to something new you put out, knowing it was about him. Sure he’d been a stupid kid at one point but being with you he was at his happiest and he lives by that everyday, he knows he was wrong and he knows he should have just told you the truth but in all honesty, he wasn’t sure how.

“I regret it everyday, honestly I wish I could take it back.”

An excited Beomgyu shoots up from his seat as Hueningkai falls from his lap, “I have an idea.”

“Y/N and I are really good friends and you’re my best friend. You want to apologize and right your wrongs and she’s obviously still in love with you or has some kind of feelings towards you so why don’t we fix that. Then everyone is happy and we can all be one big happy family!”

“How are we supposed to fix this? I mean this in the nicest way possible but, your ideas are always ass.”

“Firstly, fuck you Yeonjun, and secondly let me tell you my plan.”

The boys sit back, not a single word is spoken as they all nod their heads at Beomgyu.

“Well shit, maybe this time your plan might actually work.”

MASTERLIST / PREVIOUS / NEXT

coco’s ♡ note: dun dun dun!! and there it is folks! we finally have soobin’s side of the sooby/n drama! question is, will he be able to make things right with y/n, or is he too late? dun dun dun!! I hope you enjoyed this chapter, the first draft of it got deleted so I had to re-write it but I think I’m pretty happy with how it came out!! As always, feedback & reblogs are always appreciated!

TTT TAGLIST! - @jmin-s @stealanity @iijwon @invuwrld @igotkpoops @telesvng @whippedforbeomgyu @l0ve-joy @envirae @neozon3nha @meiiiwa @kangtaehyunfan029 @chaerybae @ch2won @cinnikoi @wccycc @run2seob @stariszn @haew0nz - Want to be added? Send an ask or dm to be added to the taglist!!

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writingrock · 29 days

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let me be numb to you [2]

pairing: aventurine x reader (gender neutral) summary: being bored at some club sucks. but when you meet a charming stranger offering you some fun, you don't say no.

notes: drug use, gambling, addiction, mentions of overdose, angst, implied sex

word count: 4.1k

chapter list

Each time he promised himself he wouldn't meet with you again, he lies to himself. There was never a last time when it came to going out with you. In fact the two of you started to go out more.

Initially, Aventurine was adamant in cutting you off after that night. He’s not someone to be friends with. He’s well aware of what kind of influence he is and is content with walking on this dangerous thread alone. The careless, foolish lifestyle where sobriety could fuck off. Where all he had to do was gamble and consume whatever could get him high.

But, you were irritatingly persistent. The onslaught of messages and calls, catching him off guard and inserting yourself into his life.

Thinking back on it, he wished he was stronger back then to refuse you. To block you and completely cut you off. But he was weak when he met you. Deep down, he wanted to be fucked up with someone and you rose to the role. So bit by bit, you seeped into his life through the cracks of his defences.

All the memories of the gambling sprees and drugs were brought back to Aventurine when he sees your name ringing on the screen of his phone. He's just taken a shower. Water from his damp hair falls onto the screen of his phone, two fat droplets of water fall on your name as he contemplates picking it up.

Cheese pulls are always satisfying when eating pizza. Your hands held the crust of the slice as you pulled it away to showcase the stretchy cheese. Aventurine was only mildly amused. Or at least, he was pretending to be mildly amused.

The two of you had just finished playing a few games at the casino. He was still teaching you the ways of gambling. You could have sworn he was some gambling god. The fun lasted till the early morning of 4:32 am. Both of you left the casino with the winnings of the night. Adrenaline rushing through both as they got into his car.

Hunger was the last thing on your mind until your stomach grumbled during the car ride. “Are you seriously hungry–” Aventurine’s words were cut off by the sound of his own stomach grumbling.

So since the two of you were hungry after the little games, you brought him to your favourite midnight snack place. A small pizza place sits at the corner of a quiet street. A humble, generational pizza shop with weathered bricks and a retro-style neon sign that read “Juno’s Pizza”. The sign buzzes faintly in the stillness of the night, casting a warm glow onto the sidewalk below.

It looks unassuming but they probably made the best pizzas. They always hit the spot after a long night out. Something about the cushiony, salty cheese and the perfect ratio of pizza dough and toppings. The pizza place is cosy, with a comforting, lived-in feel. The moment you walk in, you could picture all of the memories that have taken place here.

Aventurine wasn’t particularly fazed by the place or the pizza. But he could admit that the pizza was good. His fingers pressed the crust, the remaining bit of the pizza slice he hadn't eaten yet. Eating late night pizza from some corner shop was strangely not bad.

It’s been two months since you guys met and the both of you were getting closer. Aventurine wasn’t a big fan of that. Relationships and people are always complicated. Especially when he was intent on fooling around, putting his life on this thin thread of danger and death.

A part of him wants to keep you around. No one has really stuck around him like this and this often. Is this what they call a friend? In his line of work and general life, everyone is a ‘friend’. There’s no meaning behind that word. Just a way to address someone and be friendly with them. He doesn’t truly understand what a ‘friend’ is. But you’ve turned into something he can’t quite understand. Why would someone continue to spend time with him? Is it because of how he’s teaching you how to gamble? Once you learn, will you leave as well? There’s no such thing as a free lunch. There’s only give and take.

“What’s your next step once you fully understand the art of gambling?” he asked with a slight curiosity in his voice, tossing the last piece of the crust into his mouth. Aventurine expects you to dwindle away from you once you’ve learnt all that you need to learn.

Besides, you shouldn’t be around him. This hellhole of pleasure and pain isn’t for everyone. He jumps into it to overwhelm himself from remembering. Running in blind to forget his past turmoil that haunts him. He doesn’t want to look behind him. The past can stay buried.

“What are you talking about?” You ask, taking a sip of your beer. You’re naturally confused by his words. You weren’t here because you wanted to learn how to play card games or win big. You were here simply because it’s fun being with him. Doing the dumb shit with Aventurine is different than doing it alone.

“There isn’t a next step. I’m here because I enjoy your company.”

Your words are slowed in the replay, the easy smile on your face etched on his mind. The memory rings in his head as Aventurine picks up the phone. Hesitating, he slides the ‘answer’ button of your call. A soft click is heard, his breath is held back as he waits to hear your voice.

“Hey … ” Honestly, you weren’t expecting him to pick the phone up. You hadn’t planned for what you were going to say if he did pick up. Dryly swallowing your mouth, you sniffle before speaking, “could you.. pick me up?”.

The line is silent for long enough that you thought he had ended the call. Just as you were about to pull the phone from your ear to check, you hear his voice pull through. Your heart beats grow heavy at the sound of his voice. The phone call doesn’t do his voice justice, you miss hearing his voice in person. Your hand grips the phone rather tightly, shaking slightly.

“Send me the address, I’ll be there.” Before you could say anything, the line clicked. He ended the call. Removing the phone from your ear, you look down at your phone, taking a moment to look at the ‘call ended’ display.

Despite how coldly he ended the call, your heart felt warm. The warmest it’s ever been in a long time. He was going to pick you up. Promptly, you type the address to him. Sending a text to his phone that detailed where you were at.

Clutching the phone to your chest, you shiver from the cold wind. You weren’t exactly dressing for the weather. A regret you’ve come to accept as you stand by the dumpster in the alleyway. Hoping that the large size of the dumpster blocks some of the incoming wind. He hasn’t always been this cold to you.

Sprawled on the bed were the two of you. Bare bodies slick in sweat, sticking to the sheets of the bed. A cool air brushes past your body eliciting a small shiver as you recover your breaths. Your chest rising and falling slowly as you absentmindedly stared at the ceiling. Sinking into the effects of the drugs mixed with the lingering pleasure from your orgasm.

What other way could you celebrate winning five million credits than getting high on drugs and fucking? The sex had always been casual. No feelings ever came between the two of you at least to your knowledge.

At some point, between the drugs and gambling plots, you fell for him. His irresistible charms and those strikingly beautiful eyes of his. The rare, genuine softness he shows when you both are alone. How the both of you leaned on each other as you both delved deeper into the spiral of sex, money and drugs. There’s never been judgement. It was easy to indulge and be stupid together.

Neither of you ever talked about going sober, it was always about what casino we were going to hit next or how are we getting high tonight. But nothing beats the nights where the two of you lay next to each other, freely spilling all the insecurities and vulnerabilities to each other. Buzzed with whatever substance the both of you abused that day. You remember the nights when he opened up about his past. Aventurine hated talking about it but he needed to get it off his chest sometimes and the drugs gave him the small push he needed. Outside of those nights, that topic is never discussed.

You snap your attention to Aventurine when he starts to speak. “I dreamt of my sister yesterday.” he softly speaks, his voice is uncharacteristically fragile. You keep quiet to let him speak, knowing he would continue. “The skies were clear and we were playing with marbles..” his quivering, soft voice described his dream.

He wasn’t sure why he told you about his dreams or his past. But you made him feel comfortable to be vulnerable with. Something about crashing into the sheets of some random hotel and laying there high on whatever substance they chose for the night. Perhaps it was the drugs that made him more open to talk. Aventurine hated those nights, those intimate moments where he revealed himself. Yet when he was with you, he just wanted to spill everything he buried for so long. Unwillingly and instinctively becoming an open book for you. Something about you emanates with placidity. Your presence comforts him.

Besides that, you were a sight for his sore eyes. The subtle rise and fall of your chest as your breaths created a rhythm, a quiet poetry in motion. Thin rays of light from the window slid over the gentle slope of your collarbone. His eyes marvelled at the subtle dip of your waist, and the soft swell of your hips. His fingers toyed with your locks of hair cascading over the sheets, admiring the texture of them.

But most of all, he loved laying his eyes on your face. Your dreamy expression when you were intoxicated with a subtle flush to your cheeks. Parted lips, curving into a faint smile as you step in and out of the hazy sensations.

What god decided to bless him with such a beaut? Sex with you always felt like a blessing, in a way he was addicted to the way you tasted. The way your body trembled under his touch, the lewd expressions on your face. Your needy whines and moans that sounded paradisiacal to his ears.

His favourite sensation is the warmth he felt when your bodies melted with his. He felt alive when he was being intimate with you.

A part of him knew he desired you more than the casual flings. But he’s never acted on it, he didn’t dare to. You were something he didn’t want to take a chance on. The risk of losing you was something that he didn’t want to play with. He’d much rather be content with casual sex than never have you by his side.

Sex became the tool that conveyed his feelings for you. Because fuck love. He only needed lust. The two of you could continue being together if it was just lust.

There wasn’t a chance he would let time go wasting when it came to you. He slides into the driver seat of his car, shutting the door with a solid thud. Aventurine was definitely worried, simply based on the way you sounded through the phone. It didn’t sound positive. Sliding his fingers across the dashboard, he starts the engine with a low purr.

The car comes to life, the air conditioning unit kicks in and emits cooling air. He sets his car keys aside. Quietly inputting the address into his car’s built in navigation system. He softly spells out the words as he types.

Aventurine wasn’t sure where you were but with one look at his navigation system, he could tell this wasn’t somewhere particularly nice. A worried sigh slips past his lips as a sense of urgency crawls under his skin. His body is stiff, tense about your well-being after seeing the location.

Both hands stretch to the wheel, gripping it rather tightly as he begins his drive. It’s hard to not be worried about you. He hadn’t always been this cold towards you. But there was no point reminiscing about the past.

He hadn’t felt this worried about you since— he stops for a moment as he pulls out of the driveway. Pausing as he lets out another sigh. He hadn’t felt this worried about you since your overdose.

He hates remembering this particular night. Yet he remembers it in full, excruciating detail. The club was pulsing with energy, neon lights flashing in sync with the heavy bass that reverberated through the room.

It’s as if he’s there right now. Feeling the heavy vibrations under his feet. Dancing bodies with drinks sloshing in raised hands paired the occasional flash of a camera capturing the wild moments.

The adrenaline he felt as he pushed through the crowd, searching for you. Calling out your name, though his voice was swallowed up by the music and the noise of the crowd. Fuck. How did he lose you? His movements are urgent, his eyes jumping to each person in the crowd for your face. Cursing at the flashing lights that blur the faces in the sea of people.

The both of you were unravelling at this party with hard liquor and whatever pills were circulating at this party. Mixing substances is never a good idea but at the time, neither of you really cared. Which is why Aventurine was frantically searching for you that night. The last time he saw you was when the two of you were— yet again snorting god knows what.

Recalling this memory isn’t just uncomfortable, he feels sick thinking about it. And he still blames himself for it. Letting you get involved with him. Not holding back even slightly on that night. For losing you in the crowd.

A shrill scream was what led him to you. The sight of your lethargic body on the ground, your breathing was shallow, erratic. He could hear those loud, uneven gasps that broke through the noise of the crowd. How your eyes rolled back in a similar motion as your body, struggling against the toxic concoction of alcohol mixed with drugs. Sometimes he wonders what would have happened if he didn’t find you when he did.

The ride to the hospital was the most tense experience he’d ever felt. He always felt thankful for the paramedics that stabilised you in the stretcher. He remembers how clueless he was, having zero clue on what they were doing to help you. All he knew was that he was useless in that moment as well as deep regret. Perhaps if he was colder and pushed you away more, he wouldn’t be in this situation. This terrifying situation that he doesn’t want to think about.

Even in the ambulance, he squeezed his eyes tight as if trying to convince himself he was in a nightmare. That this wasn’t real. Reality hit him whilst he was in the midst of staring at your body in the hospital bed.

An oxygen mask strapped over your mouth and nose whilst an IV drip runs through your arm. Aventurine wasn’t really listening to the doctors when they were briefing him on the treatment. What they had done to save your life and all their questions went unheard.

At that moment, all he wanted to do was bring you back. It didn’t matter if it was his place or yours. He didn’t want to see you in this bleak hospital room with the stale air of disinfectant. Haunting his nightmares were the visual of you hooked onto machines— the one memory he tries to erase the most. Hours pass, the steady beeps of the machines reading that you were stable.

He still remembers how his ears perked up at your first croak, the sign of your consciousness. How he practically squeezed you so tight you could have gone unconscious again. Aventurine didn’t let you stay in the hospital for long.

Barely a full day in that hospital before he snuck you out of there. It was dangerous but he hated being there. Hatred burned inside of him each time he saw you in that hospital gown, locked onto the bed being stuck in that stuffy room. It reminded him why you were there. He didn’t want to face these reminders. So, he took you home.

Pulling up to the address, he slowly stops his car. Peering from the window of the car, searching for you to come out. Was he really going to see you after all this time?

Emerging from the dark alleyway, you stumble out with clear signs of being intoxicated. The sight of you spaced out as you walked to his car made him infuriated. You managed to get into the car, the two of you refraining from making eye contact. The tension was thick, it felt suffocating as it wafted in the air. Wordlessly, Aventurine starts the car, his hand steering the car as he begins the drive. His hand grips tightly on the wheel as his gaze stares ahead. His knuckles pale against the dark interior. Refusing to meet your gaze in the rearview mirror.

The drive back to his place is dead silent, not a single word shared. Not even the exchange of greetings. Why couldn’t you get better? There is a tightness in his jaw, he’s lost in thought, wrestling with unsaid words. A heavy weight on unspoken emotions reeling deep within them both. Every now and then, either of you shifts in their seat, a small, restless movement that seems to echo the silence. The radio is off. Only the sound of tires rolling over the asphalt is constant during this car drive. He left so you could get better. So why are you in this spiral?

The night was quiet. An empty black skyscape with faded clouds. On the balcony, two figures stood leaning against the cold metal railing, one had their arm resting casually on the edge while the other held a smouldering cigarette. Aventurine’s shirt, black and loosely buttoned, flutters slightly in the soft breeze, revealing glimpses of his pale skin beneath. The shirt hangs open at the collar, adding to the relaxed, almost careless demeanour. He’s gotten used to your presence.

It’s been about… two or three years..? Three and a half years since you’ve been fooling around with him. But he often questioned why you’ve decided to tag along. Especially since your overdose, he assumed you’d come to your senses. Your overdose was just last week. Why are you here? Realise how dangerous it is to continue on and get help. Leave his side.

But you were still here, by his side to touch the heavenly high that you both desperately craved. As if nothing had happened.

The light golden brown locks of his hair, slightly tousled, catches the faint light from the city below, adding to his allure. His gaze is distant, eyes half-lidded as they stare down at the floor, lost in thought. Looking down at his worn out, black leather shoes. His arm extends to hand you the cigarette that is held loosely between his fingers.

Gently, you took it from his fingers and pulled it to your lips. The cigarette glowed briefly as you took a slow drag, the tip flared orange and casted a warm glow on your face. Smoke curling up from your lips, rising in delicate, twisting tendrils before it dissipated into the night air. You could feel the cigarette loosely hanging between your lips as you sink into the feeling of the first hit. Easing into the comfort, you pluck the cigarette from your mouth to rest between your fingers.

“Do you regret getting involved with me?”

The question nearly sobered you up. His voice cut through the easy atmosphere between the two of you. You twist your whole body to swing your arm and give him a hard slap on his face.

Now that definitely sobered him up. Straightening up, he held his stinging cheek. The warmth of his glowing cheek contrasted against his cold fingers. His eyes widened with shock. He didn’t expect that.

“What’s your—” “No. Fuck you. What’s your problem?” You cut him off instantly. Your words were firm and solid.

There was anger brimming inside of you. You remembered that particular night, how frustrated you were by that question. It ticked you off. The air around the two of you turned thick. You no longer shivered at the cool tingle of air.

Aventurine was silent, letting you speak. He had never seen you that pissed off, hence why he decided to shut up. Besides that, he could feel the warmth of his cheek from the inside of his mouth. He did not want another slap.

Stepping away from the railings, your searing gaze stayed on his face. Positioning yourself to be directly in front of him. Placing your hands on the railing on either side of Aventurine. Trapping him with your outstretched arms as you step in and close the distance.

Your lips pursed into a fine line as your eyebrows scrunched up in agitation. Your eyes were the fiercest features in that moment.

“I’m not some ditzy girl that happened to fall into this,” you state clearly for Aventurine to listen, “I made this decision for myself. Don’t you fucking dare pity me or ‘blame yourself for my downfall’ because I am far from being a victim.”

It’s silent as you confront him for his question. The dumbest question he’s ever asked. The facts are that he introduced you to this world. But your choices afterwards were your own. You chose this for yourself and you held no regrets. There were always passing comments that all meant the same thing: You’ll regret drowning with me.

A tense silence befalls between the two of you. The only sound is the distant hum of the city, blending with the quiet rustle of the wind as they remain absorbed in their solitary moment, detached from the world around them. The breeze blows past both of you.

“Is this because of my o.d? You need to quit worrying, it was an accident and, look! I’m fine—”

“You’re fine?” Aventurine’s voice caused you to move back, your hands releasing the railings. A scoff leaves his mouth, not believing he’s heard you correctly.

“You’re delusional if you think you’re fine. Fucking– get a grip! You're going to lose yourself!” Scorching heat flares from his words, his expression twisted into pure, raw anger.

Disappointment, frustration and worry boiling together in the pits of his stomach. All of his thoughts spilling out his mouth which each heated breath. Why were you still next to him? Couldn’t you see that you were slowly killing yourself with him? Did he need to spell it out for you like a child?

You grit your teeth, flaring your own fangs at him. You are capable of making your own choices as a grown woman. So they might be poor decisions but you liked being with him like this.

Being fucked up with him made you happy. No matter how ugly it could get. You reached a different sensation with him. He’s never influenced you to do the shit you do, for fuck sakes, you are not a child that needed to be scolded. He should stick his nose out of your business.

Aventurine is fueled by the deep worry he has for you. You’re probably one of the people closest to him and he didn’t want to lose you. Aventurine wished he could have communicated it better to you. Be calm and sit down with you to discuss getting help. Instead of opening his feelings, he berates you. Regrettably saying things he never meant. But you were the same. Perhaps if you weren’t so defensive or blinded by the serotonin from the substances. Maybe then you would have seen his concern.

The night sky was bleak that night. Raised voices bickering on the balcony with no regard for the neighbours. An argument that dragged both of you from the world.

Aventurine left your place at 5:53am. Slammed the door hard enough for your apartment to tremble. He didn’t call or answer your texts ever after that. Until now.

a/n: what a heavy chapter huh? How are yall feeling?

border credits: @enchanthings & @adornedwithlight

#x gn reader #x reader #hsr aventurine #hsr fanfic #hsr x reader #hsr #aventurine honkai star rail #aventurine x reader #aventurine angst #angst #hsr angst #angst fanfic

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brabblesblog · 8 months

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Ch 17: Whom have I in heaven but thee?

Astarion has ascended, and she has stayed with him. Life in the Crimson Palace isn’t as idyllic as it seems. Is there a chance for their relationship to go back to how it was? Or is it too late for the Ascendant and his consort?

This series is about Ban, my Tav, and the Vampire Ascendant. Will be angst and smut, with sprinkles of fluff.

This fic is a softer take on Ascendant!Astarion and of the changes he undergoes after the rite. Can Ban handle the change, and if a chance came, would she choose to run? And can the Ascendant win her back in time? Inspired by the concept of vampire wives and that IGN interview with Larian that discussed the ascension.

Professionally edited by @editing-by-night

Astarion and Ban are presented with an opportunity whilst visiting the former Shadow-Cursed lands.

Read on AO3.

Masterlist.

Moonrise Towers.

Still empty but less dour, the old crumbling walls looked less threatening and more desolate than anything else. Seeing the sun shine on the facade felt wrong-

A nudge, and Ban shook off the thought.

“Are you alright, love?” Her husband stood beside her, wearing one of his older shirts - one from before. Astarion had packed clothes he’d worn during their adventure, shirts and trousers that had not seen the light of day in months before this.

“I’m not risking any of my actual clothes, Ban.” Astarion stuffed the old clothing into his pack haphazardly.

She tried not to laugh as he made an attempt to close the now-bulging pack and failed.

“You do know you needn’t bring so many shirts, right? It’s just Reithwin and the surrounding area.”

He stared at the pack, frowning. Living in the Crimson Palace meant an abundant if not limitless amount of clothes; he’d become accustomed to changing on a whim. Conceding the point, he dumped the contents of the bag out, picking through the small mountain of clothing that spilled out.

“I suppose so,” he grumbled, “I’ll just have to subsist on a meager variety of shirts then. Pity.”

Pulling her mind out of her reverie, Ban shrugged. Was she alright?

So many memories they’d created here, good and bad alike. Sometimes it was still hard to reconcile the fact that she shared those memories with the man next to her, not with some nebulous phantom of him.

Astarion marked the silence; he saw her turn away, expression closing off.

“Ban.” His voice was tense, but not excessively so. He took her hand, threading his fingers through hers. “Let’s just head inside, love.”

He led her through, eyes scanning ahead to avoid any potentially dangerous spots. He’d done this back in the early days too, scouting ahead for traps and ambushes. Ban wasn’t the most observant sort; he’d found out early on that she needed protecting.

Funny, that. He had thought he was using her for protection, but had quickly found himself wanting to shield her from danger in return. His eyes had always sought her out in battle, shooting at anything that dared approach; just as she’d cut down anything that had tried to get to him.

Initially, it had been to ensure she wouldn’t fall to a stray arrow or an errant sword. It wouldn’t have done to have their leader die, leaving no one by his side when Cazador inevitably came for him, would it? As the days had passed, however, he’d begun to have to repeat this fact to himself, reminding his heart that petty affection - even love, gods forbid - wasn’t the reason, here. Obviously, that plan had failed miserably.

Pushing Ban away that day in Vel’s mansion had been instinctive, a reflex that hadn’t warranted a second thought.

“Ban-” He pointed, but it was a little late. Her boot snagged on a piece of broken stone; she toppled forward and Astarion braced, catching her effortlessly.

“You seriously have to pay closer attention,” he chided, but there was no anger there; just amusement and a little nostalgia. He held her close, allowing himself to revel in her presence.

“Sorry,” Ban said automatically. She let him wrap his arms around her, head pressed against his shoulder as her mind drifted back.

"You- ... you're incredible. You deserve something real. I want us to be something real."

Memories. They shouldn’t be painful, and yet they stung. She turned her face to hide from the world, from him; unwilling to admit that she was still mourning, grieving a life that never came to pass.

Astarion felt her tense, muscles shifting as though preparing for a fight. He sighed, part of him wishing to confront her. The larger part decided to wait for a better moment.

He pulled away, pretending to miss her tears. He kissed her forehead.

“No need to apologize, darling,” he murmured, “Just missed a rock. Which - well, you do do that a little too often for my liking, but -”

She smacked him, melancholy forgotten for the moment. With a satisfied smirk, Astarion continued leading her through the ruin.

They arrived at the table where Araj had set up shop. Astarion ran his fingers across the wood. He could smell it even now, the drow’s blood - rank and vile and alien. Ban had shown him he was more than just a thing to be used then, that his choices mattered. He had never forgotten.

“That was interesting, the drow,” he mused. “A pity she’s dead, or I would’ve had her brought to the palace and killed her myself.”

“Astarion,” Ban said, a little leery of the tone his voice had taken.

He paused, hand stilling against the wooden grain of the table, meeting her eyes. “Oh, not literally. Can’t I say something in jest, Ban? I didn’t kill her when we saw her at her shop, did I? In fact, I like to think I was positively polite.”

A small smile broke across Ban’s features. It was difficult at times, figuring out what was a joke with him and what was not. She knew that in some ways, it wasn’t even he who changed, but rather her perception of him; something she’d been working on, but she admittedly still had a ways to go.

Astarion exhaled. He took a step towards her, hands held out. He was still worried, fearing the day she’d shy away from his touch yet again. But she let him take her hands, and just like every time she did, he felt a wave of relief.

Bracing himself, he met her gaze.

“Can we talk, Ban? Tonight,” he murmured, swallowing down the urge to avoid it altogether. After that confrontation the first day they’d arrived at Halsin’s community, Astarion had felt a lot more willing to be open around his wife. He could sense Ban trying to do the same, though her doubts still seemed to linger; he had resolved to fix that.

“I… of course,” she said, worry crossing her expression.

He squeezed her hands. “It’s nothing big, nothing that will change things,” he reassured her. And at least on his end, he was resolved that it would hold true.

Ban stared at him for a moment. In these ruins and in those clothes, Astarion looked exactly like he had back then, down to the soft expression on his face and the slight, uncertain curl of his lips. The sight was comforting, and she nodded.

“Tonight, then.”

With that said, Astarion led her further into the ruins of Moonrise Towers.

Having played with the children after dinner, Ban headed back to their little hut. She opened the door to find Astarion on the bed, shirtless; his hands were behind his head, and he was staring out the window.

“Do you ever think of choosing him?” he asked, not meeting her gaze.

“Choosing-” She frowned, then realized what he meant. “Halsin. Choosing Halsin.” She gestured at the hut they were staying in. A calm, quiet existence; days spent playing with the children and nights wrapped up in Halsin’s warm embrace. She could not say she hadn't thought of it.

Astarion’s eyes slid back to Ban. He watched her, a hand moving down to tap his knee absently. Waiting.

“Perhaps,” Ban finally said, “It would have been a peaceful life.”

“Happier,” Astarion corrected, still staring at her intently, eyes tense. His lean body lounged on the bed in a well-practiced position that suggested nothing but nonchalance.

“Okay. Happier.” She crossed her arms. “What of it? Is this… is this what you wanted to talk about?”

There was a small twist in the calm of his features; he forced himself to ease off. “It’s one of several, but yes,” he returned to the topic at hand, “If you want. Should you want - still want that.”

Say it.

He drew a deep breath. The hand tapping his knee stilled, the manufactured pose disappearing under rapidly tensing limbs; he readjusted, sitting up.

“If you still want Halsin-“

His voice cracked, the depth of his emotion proving too much. Hurt, a little anger. Fear.

His eyes tried to convey what he could not say; his mind reached for hers, and she allowed him in.

Thoughts. Images. Ban dancing with the children, riding on Halsin’s broad back. Smiling. Doing chores. Running in the woods. Carefree; happy.

Astarion quirked an eyebrow at her, and let his emotions suffuse the images.

The first thing Ban felt was a wave of jealousy - he wanted Ban to save those smiles for him, and him alone. This wave, however, was miniscule compared to the weight of his envy; Astarion was sickened to imagine her with Halsin, but he also wished to be the one running in the woods with her, making love on the forest floor - to be the one she lived such a simple, carefree life with.

Ban was ready to snap, to ask him what the point of this exercise was when the color of his emotions changed. There was more, more to him that he wished for her to discover.

See me, he thought, opening his heart, pouring it out before her waiting gaze.

Joy, at seeing her happiness. Contentment, knowing that she finally had what he so longed to give her. And the deepest one of all - resignation, knowing it wasn’t him who’d been able to give it to her. Not soon enough.

“Do you understand?” he asked. He couldn’t bring himself to say it, but he could at least show her.

“You’re saying you’ll let me go.” Ban was disbelieving.

Astarion barely believed it himself. But he’d seen her with Halsin, seen how easily she laughed in his presence; how she effortlessly allowed him into her space.

Astarion thought he and Ban were getting there, but a part of him wondered if it wasn’t just better to save her the trouble. He looked away. In his breast, his heart raged in a blind panic.

Take that back, you fucking idiot! You’re throwing everything away!

He felt her hand on his shoulder and looked up, surprised.

“I want to be with you,” she said.

“What? Why?” Familiar words; he found himself wistful at the memory. “I’m hard work, Ban. You know that.”

He took the hand on his shoulder and brought it to his lips.

“It is.” She tried to meet his gaze, but he kept his eyes firmly on her hand.

“It sure is worth it, though,” Ban added, “I still choose you.”

Astarion merely nodded, for once speechless; he tugged at her hand, drawing her to the bed alongside him.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, “I needed to hear that.”

She nuzzled into the crook of his neck, and he braced himself for the next thing he was about to say.

“Ban. I want to know… what’s on your mind. What’s been on your mind for a while now.”

“Nothing? We’ve been happy, no?” she immediately deflected, but Astarion shook his head.

“Better than before, certainly. Happy? I wouldn’t use that word. Not on your end, at least.” His eyes stared forward, boring holes into the wall of the hut. “If you seemed happy, Ban, I wouldn’t have asked you about Halsin. I would-”

His jaw worked, tightening. “I wouldn’t be so worried.”

She could feel his chest rise and fall faster, fear breaking through the facade he was trying so hard to maintain.

“I didn’t want to hurt you. Scare you,” Ban ventured cautiously. But she now recognized that in doing so, in shielding him from the truth, she had inadvertently caused the very thing she’d been trying to avoid.

Astarion laughed, a short and pained bark of noise. “You think I don’t see how you look at me? Most of the time you don’t anymore, thank the gods, but sometimes, Ban - you look at me the way you used to. After.”

After the ascension. When he had begun to lose her, bit by painful bit.

“I don’t mean to,” she said. She drew away from him, just enough to see the hard lines of his face and the way his eyes refused to look anywhere but the wall. “Astarion, please. Look at me.”

Astarion acquiesced after a moment of hesitation; their gazes met. For a heartbeat his eyes were glassy and distant, but then they shifted, becoming wide and round. The uncertainty was plain to see; he no longer made any effort to hide it when it was just the two of them.

As vulnerable as it made him, he knew it was necessary. If she couldn’t do it, he would have to, no matter how much he loathed it. For her. For them.

“I still mourn what our life could’ve been if you didn’t ascend,” she admitted, “Brief flashes of memory, small flickers of pain here and there. A lot less often now, but still there at times.”

“Do you still see two different people?” A question he hadn’t dared ask since the night she’d decided to move back in.

“No,” she said with certainty, “I merely still grieve what we could have been - a different future, not a different person.”

He absorbed her words, understood them. A moment passed while he gathered his resolve.

“I know we said it would take time,” he finally said, “And I am… willing to wait. But can I ask for one thing?”

She frowned, biting her lip - unsure. He saw it, and a wave of hurt washed over him.

“See.” Astarion pointed out, smiling sadly. “That’s exactly what I mean, Ban. You’re doing it right now.”

“Doing what?” Her tone was a little too harsh, and she winced. “Just tell me. Don’t hint at it and expect me to know.”

“You don’t tell me how you really feel. You close yourself off, like you did after the rite. You just disappear, and your face goes blank. Empty. I-” He shook his head. “I’m terrified of it, Ban.”

She considered his words, painfully aware that he’d hit the nail on the head. In moments when she felt wary of him she hid away, an almost involuntary response drilled into her during those months between the rite and her flight. Perhaps even before Astarion came into my life, Ban mused, but didn’t allow herself to dwell on those… thoughts.

“You’re not wrong.” Ban weighed her words. “It’s… almost just instinct, Astarion. I get nervous when I can’t read you, and it makes me want to run and hide.”

Astarion breathed out heavily, eyes falling shut. “Can you do this for me, then? One thing. When it happens… tell me. Ask me what I’m feeling. What I’m thinking. If I can’t tell you, I’ll show you.”

He took her hand, relieved when she let him without question or resistance. He placed it gently over his heart.

“I know I haven’t been kind, especially those six months. But if we are to fix this - us,” he added, trying to blink away the moisture gathering in his eyes. “I need you to at least try to talk to me, that’s all. If you’re frightened of me, then that’s alright. If you want time to yourself, then so be it. I would just prefer to know your thoughts, and wish to have mine be heard in return.”

His eyes opened again; they were a little bright and wet, and he fixed her with yet another smile. He aimed for hopeful; it came out tremulous. “It’s the least you can do to help your husband out, don’t you think, darling?”

A small attempt at lightening the situation, but one they needed at present.

“Of course,” she nodded. “I think I can at least do that.”

His face brightened. “That’s all I ask.”

Astarion’s hand cupped her cheek, and he leaned in to press his lips against hers. It was a gentle, unhurried meeting of mouths; he let her in, allowing her to taste him.

“Ban. While you were with those damnable children,” he murmured, laughing a little as he pulled away from the kiss, the tips of his ears flushing pink before he proceeded. “Halsin gave me a, ah… a present.”

“You?” she laughed, incredulous.

“Well, for us. He apologized for what happened - and yes, it was an actual apology this time, mind you.” He looked smug, and although Ban doubted the veracity of his claim, she didn’t contest it.

Astarion slipped a hand under the pillow at his back, pulling out a small package.

“I don’t know if you’ll like it, and I don’t presume to know what exactly you and Halsin did when you were together, but-”

He unwrapped the package, revealing a whittled cock.

Ban stared.

She stared for such a long time that Astarion began to worry.

“We don’t- look.” He began to wrap it back up, but Ban grasped his wrist to stop him.

“I could do it,” she offered, “But I don’t have any experience in that location, and I’d rather have it be you if it’s in-”

He couldn’t help the laugh that burst out of him; he quickly grabbed her for a kiss, affection overwhelming him.

“Ban,” he said slowly, each word dripping from his lips, “If I wanted to fuck you in the ass, I’d do it with my cock.”

She shivered at his words; Astarion smirked, smugly pleased.

“This isn’t for you, darling.”

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droewyn · 21 days

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RedSpidey plot bunny, free to a good home

Because I'm not confident enough in my BatFam to write them, but this lives in my head rent-free, and I'd love to read it.

Peter Parker / Tim Drake crossover by way of the multiverse.

"Lost objects" soulmate AU. In this AU, anything that you lose winds up in the possession of your soulmate. You can't game the system by throwing things away on purpose; it has to actually be lost.

Six months after the events of No Way Home, Peter Parker is going through the motions. "Peter Parker" himself barely exists anymore; he's faked his own credentials -- not particularly difficult after the Blip -- but those carefully forged ID papers are really all that's left of him. Peter Parker is the nonentity who delivers photos to Jameson. He's the bane of his landlord's existence. The rest of the time, he's Spider-Man.

Peter Three said that he'd eventually stopped pulling his punches. Peter One has stopped ducking them. Oh, he dodges the flung busses, the vaporizing energy rays, and the mutagen grenades. He's not suicidal. Not... not really. He takes the big threats seriously; the city can't afford for him not to. But the street-level thugs and muggers really can't do too much to hurt him, even if they're armed. He'll heal. He always heals. And while they last, those cuts and bruises (and occasional gunshot wounds) remind him that he's real, that he's not just a ghost, haunting New York, possessing his own superhero identity. The pain is a reminder that he's not dead. Which is important. Probably.

He's long since stopped wondering about his soulmate. He still keeps the random objects that he finds, storing them safely in a shoebox under his bed, but it's mostly out of habit. Whoever keeps misplacing the coffeeshop punch-cards, the occasional roll of film, the weird-looking charging cables and bits of disassembled tech, and that one really tacky, bat-shaped throwing star that probably came from the same mall kiosk that sold knockoff Lord of the Rings swords... whoever that person is, they are better off far, far away from Peter. From Spider-Man.

It's been a particularly bad night. He's bruised. He's bloody. He hasn't bothered to look at the camera's memory yet, but he's pretty sure that there won't be anything usable on it. His third eviction notice has been taped to his door, and the contents of his refrigerator should be classified as a bioweapon. He's just. So tired. He barely manages to peel the mask off before flopping into bed, the fabric still clutched between his fingers.

And when he wakes up again, he's in a bedroom larger than his entire apartment, in a bed softer than a cloud (and quite possibly also larger than his entire apartment), and the only thing more astonishing than the thread count of the sheets he's tangled in is the sleeping face of the pretty, black-haired boy roughly his own age, whose nose is eight inches from his own.

Blue eyes blink open, going from sleepy to alert in an instant. The boy's feet kick out, and ow, did they have to connect with the kidney that was still recovering from the stab wound? He finds himself literally booted out of bed, blinking dazedly at a ceiling that doesn't have any water damage at all, and it's only his Peter T... spider sense that gets him to move in time to avoid the staff that slams into the carpet where his head had just been.

Who the hell sleeps with a weapon within reach? A quick thwip, and a practiced jerk of his wrist, and the staff sticks harmlessly to the wall. (It's not a double-standard, okay? Just because he's been sleeping in his costume more often than not lately doesn't make it intentional, just... efficient.)

The black-haired boy also enjoys efficiency. He's firing question after question at Peter, even as he chases him around the room. Who is he working for? What does he want? How did he get inside the bedroom? Something about the main character of Persona 5? Peter's not sure about that one. They're all excellent questions, and ones he'd also like to know the answers to. But he can hear other heartbeats nearby, other voices, running footsteps. He's about to be outnumbered. He also just woke up, hasn't had a chance to pee yet, and his mouth tastes disgusting.

He goes out the window and keeps going, until he gets to a city that definitely isn't New York, and he's managed to lose all of the weirdly competent rich people.

It doesn't take him long to realize that he's in another universe. He's also pretty sure this one isn't his fault; he's stayed as far away from Dr. Strange as he has everyone else from his former life, and he hasn't had any big villains in a while. Not that it really matters; he's back to square one again, only this time, all he has is the suit on his back, a phone that won't connect to anything, and a handful of spare web fluid cartridges tucked into his pocket.

He needs to find a way home. He needs to figure out what happened, and how and why, and fix it. Doesn't he? He doesn't exist here, and okay, he barely existed back home, but that's where he's meant to be. Isn't it? Where every familiar landmark is a bad memory, and "I Believe Mysterio" shirts are commonplace. Where he's just as likely to be cursed at as thanked, and no matter what he does, nothing ever seems to get any better. Not for him, or for anyone else.

He's hungry. He's more alone than he's ever been in his life. He finds a place to squat for the night, and falls into an uneasy sleep.

He wakes up in the black-haired boy's bed again.

#spider-man #peter parker #batfamily #tim drake #plot bunny #fanfic prompt #crossover #Tim: What! Do you want!#Peter: A hug :(

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gigidragonbbxxx · 6 months

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a personal struggle + an education

this is all just gigi's opinions + thoughts

Reader, I'm struggling with empathy right now.

Don't worry, I'm not suffering from a personality pathology, I promise I am quite sympathetic and empathetic. It's just battling the feeling of wanting to be kind but also seeing a major problem and knowing I need to get it off my chest.

Let me give it to yall straight (with tweaked/paraphrased details to protect privacy and not to out anyone):

I saw a favorite loass coach/twt account/subliminal creator make fun of an "old timey" English sentence either from Neville Goddard or Edward Art. They proceeded to say that they "hate" it and "why can't they just say it simpler". and then someone else commented "they're talking bullshit fr".

The convo thread on twt devolved into an echo chamber that essentially boiled down to the old fool's adage "If I don't understand it, it must be stupid and not worth it."

This really triggered me because

The phrase quoted was not that hard to understand.

It was clear these women were not educated

Why am I judging or mad at people for their ignorance? (this is why I kept quiet on twt and went here to vent. I acknowledge that two things can be true, I can be kind and still be honest.)

I was and currently am still wrestling with these things within me.

On one hand I don't want to judge. I want to be inclusive and welcoming and supportive.

On the other hand - yall don't look educated, yall wind up looking dumb.

I'll say a harsh truth yall and you can go argue with a damn wall but I know I'm right: stupidity is not cute.

My Hot Take (not so hot when you think about it)

The Law of Assumption rewards those who feed their mind with knowledge

Before you argue with me, think about it. Seriously.

I don't want to seem ableist if someone suffers from dyslexia or if someone struggles in school. It's totally okay to have different paths to learning. The importance is still obtaining the information. You can read or listen to the audiobook, etc. The paths to knowledge are varied but in the end the result is the same - THE KNOWING.

The "old timey" sentence that the creator complained about COULD BE READ BY NINTH GRADERS BECAUSE OF SHAKESPEARE EXPOSURE.

That's why I was exasperated. They were complaining about English (the only language in which they are fluent) that is regularly taught to 14 year olds.

Guys. Stand up. Please stand the fuck up.

Who in this world is gonna take you seriously without BASIC COMPETENCY in literature or math?

Lemme roast some of yall if you want to disagree:

Yall wanna be master manifesters and claim to understand the double slit experiment but can't even name the fundamental laws of science or explain them.

Yall wanna be successful in your businesses and don't know how to calculate your profits.

Yall wanna be seen as intellectuals who "understand" more than the majority of the population and yall can't even fucking read Descartes or Shakespeare.

Yall wanna be content creators and don't know how to proofread.

One time I bought an affirmation tape that came with a pdf with all the affirmations listed. The tape itself was excellent but the pdf was riddled with errors! It makes me sad because something that can help change your life, like a sleep tape to saturate, "cheapens" in its authenticity at the price of minor errors. Sigh.

Let me tell you that 100% you can be successful in this world just by going to the end and claiming it.

BUT YOU LOSE A LOT OF TREASURE BY NOT GIVING YOURSELF THE TOOLS TO DIG FOR IT.

THERE IS SO MUCH FOUNDATIONAL INFORMATION WITHIN THESE "OLD TIMEY" TEXTS.

and if you don't like any of it and just wanna watch sammy ingram and manifest like that THEN GO AHEAD BUT DONT CLAIM TO NOT UNDERSTAND A SENTENCE AND THEN CALL IT BULLSHIT.

just be honest and own it!

be honest that you don't wanna read, that you don't wanna be academic and that's 100% okay and you're still beautiful and worth everything but

do not put down the value of what is being said just because you don't understand it

That's why I am frustrated, reader.

I am educated enough to recognize when someone's ignorance is just that - ignorance.

But I am human enough to be annoyed.

So please give yourselves some grace and take the time to appreciate knowledge. Without the knowledge of the law of assumption, we wouldn't all be here interacting with one another.

xx, gigi

p.s. for those of you who are more familiar with reading the Bible via the law of assumption lens - I beg you to think of Solomon. He was asked by God what he would like and Solomon chose wisdom over material things. Why is that? Because through wisdom comes the ability to know how to obtain all one's desires. Food for thought.

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bahbahhh · 1 year

Text

begin again

a lot of change happens in between Breath of the Wild and Tears of the Kingdom. let’s fill in the gaps. zelda pov | zelink | totk spoilers | rated T zelinkweek2023 | @zelinkcommunity [first] [last]

Read on Ao3

Two chapters left. There will be a little break in posting for now. I’m on vacation and will start working on the next chapter when I’m back. There is loads of great content over on @zelinkcommunity if you are eager for more. Thank you for all your comments, likes, and reboots. Seriously. I love interacting with members of this fandom. It seriously makes my creativity explode.

Chapter 5

for prompt “by a thread”

“Is that a golden horse?”

The road from Kakariko to Gerudo Town is long. Link refuses to push his horses unless he absolutely needs to and the golden horse she’s riding, that she has yet to name since the Sheikah gifted it to her when they left Kakariko almost a week ago, isn’t technically his, but it follows him like it is. So, when he turned north in the shadow of the Great Plateau instead of continuing southwest, it followed him happily in the direction of the Outskirt Stable, despite her pulling back on the reins and muttering commands under her breath.

“It would appear so,” Zelda answers, trying to adjust her gear casually so it covers the violet and gold saddle. Impa insisted Zelda take the Royal gear, along with the golden horse, for “luck”. Zelda wanted to protest, but stopped short when she caught Impa’s eyes. This was all her former guardian could offer her now. The last of her protections, presented under a gentler veil: gifts.

“Would have thought you’d be riding the white stallion, Princess. What did you end up calling him, Link?” The old stable hand asks.

“Storm.” Link drops a handful of rupees onto the counter.

“Strong name.” The old man tugs off his hat and bows his head. “My name’s Toffa, by the way. My grandfather was head groom for the Royal family a century ago, Princess. His name was Talon.”

Zelda presses her lips together. This isn’t the first time this has happened. Grandfathers, grandmothers, great aunts – only two generations separate these Hylians from her time. While she is an enigma, the people who filled her castle, who tended to her horses, who made her bed—all the people who died instantly when the Calamity emerged, evaporating every living thing inside the castle’s walls, are still remembered distantly by those who survived them.

And the only way Zelda feels like she can truly honor them is by knowing them.

But Talon, like the rest of the names she’s heard in the details people toss at her, like coins in a wishing well, doesn’t pull a single memory forward. In their reverence of her sacrifice, people have forgotten how devastatingly isolated she was for most of her childhood.

Her father never allowed her to enter the stables.

“Toffa helped me find Storm,” Link says, breaking the tension. He eases it further by helping Zelda off the horse.

“Beautiful horse. As is this one!” Toffa takes the horse's reins from Link. “Probably once every hundred years you’ll see a horse like this,” he chuckles. “Seems like you are made for each other, Princess.”

“Hm, thank you.” Zelda pulls her hood over her head and turns away from the inn where there is a small crowd forming inside. She tells herself it's because of the horse with the golden coat, but when she sits in front of the cooking pot, and sneaks a glance back at the stable, they all stare at her.

“What’s its name?”

A child, no older than eight, is suddenly seated beside her. She’s got dirt on her face, blonde hair in two short plaits, and she’s missing her front teeth. It sounds like there is a whistle at the end of every word. Zelda immediately smiles.

“You know, I haven’t named him yet,” Zelda says.

“How come?”

Because I’m avoiding anything that communicates ownership. “We are…still getting to know one another, I suppose.”

“How do you get to know a horse?” Another child appears out of thin air, a little boy with sandy hair and freckles, and drops into Zelda’s lap. The little girl, who is probably his sibling, scoots so close to Zelda that their legs touch. The sudden lack of personal space is alarming for someone who is used to her title forcing a wide berth, and yet, she knows this to be common with young children. Distance has to be taught.

“That’s a really good question. What do you think?”

“Sing him songs?” The little girl says.

“Pet his nose,” says the little boy.

“Feed him!” A third kid, who is wrapped around Link’s ankle so Link has to use his entire body to take the last step into their camp, rolls away from Link and sits cross-legged in front of her. Link quickly busies himself with unpacking their food. He might be smirking, but his face is just shadowed enough, she can’t be sure.

“Those are some really great suggestions. What do you suppose a golden horse would like to eat?”

“All horses like carrots.”

“Very true.”

“I bet this one would like carrots with honey,” says the first girl.

“Perhaps, that sounds yummy to me.” Zelda nods.

“Can we feed him?” The little boy in her lap clasps his hands together and shakes them in her face.

“Of course. I bet he’ll love that.”

“Do you want a honey carrot, too?” the little boy in front of her asks.

“Me?” Zelda blinks.

“You said it sounds yummy. Do you want one, too? Mr. Link travels all over Hyrule. If you are an adventurer like him, you should probably eat now while you have the chance. Mr. Link always eats like he’ll never see food again.”

Link stands up straight and flashes the kid a look. All three of the children giggle.

Zelda eyes the stable in her peripheral. The crowd is still there. “Do…do you know who I am?”

“A lady!” The boy at her feet shouts the answer with urgency.

“A pretty lady,” says the boy in her lap.

“With a cool horse for adventures?” adds the little girl next to her. No titles, not even her name. They have no idea who she is. Zelda could cry.

“I’d love some carrots, but only if you have some with me.” All three of the kids burst forward, scrambling over each other back to the stable to retrieve the ingredients. She doubts they will have the honey, but a roasted carrot does sound nice.

Link drops a honeycomb on her lap. He settles down across from her and continues to sort through their gear. His back is to the Great Plateau. He didn’t look up at it once as they rode by. If she squints, she can just make out the tip of the mountain the Shrine of Resurrection waits inside. To the left, the Sheikah Tower is dark against the sun. The blue energy seems dimmer than she remembers, only shining halfway up the tower, like the blue is slowly draining down into the base.

“You're good with them,” Link says. Zelda snaps her attention back to him and laughs nervously, trying to scatter her vision points like she is surveying and not gawking at the Great Plateau. He doesn’t need any added pressure from her.

Clearing the shrines remains his task to complete once the Divine Beasts are buried. Purah took the Slate back with her to Hateno for now, but it will be in his hands soon enough. She and Robbie are to stop in Zora’s Domain on the way to update the Zora about the delay in the shrine clearing and the plan to move forward with the Divine Beasts. A messenger, a tall white Rito wearing goggles Robbie repeatedly admired named Penn, appeared shortly after the rain stopped and agreed to take the same message back to Rito Village. Link volunteered to make the journey to Gerudo Town. Zelda asked to join him and the Sheikah surprisingly didn’t object. They just gave her a ridiculously flashy horse.

‘First time I was here, they stayed in the stable the entire time,’ Link continues.

“Well, you didn’t have a golden horse.”

‘True. But you also speak to them differently than I do.”

“What do you mean?”

He slowly rolls his fists, thinking. ‘You get them to listen. Really listen. You speak to them like a mother does. That could come in handy, right?’ he signs and then sets to building the fire up enough to cook. Zelda pulls out her water, but by the time she sets the jug to her lips, her mind is already spinning. Does he think she acts like a mother? Is he also imagining that for her? During their early travels, before the Summit, Impa and the Zora individually mentioned the importance of an heir should someone assume the throne. She blatantly ignored the comments at the time, tucking them away with all the other Royal duties she was in no hurry to resume, but Link was there, as always, listening.

Was he trying to imply this could be her purpose? Speaking clearer than what was done for her, to the next little Princess in line to inherit this fate? Even worse, was he trying to shake her loose from his side? The Master Sword is gone. He hasn’t worn his Champion blues since defeating Calamity Ganon. He’s known more for his aid than his failure now. All that is left from his past is…

His face had been unreadable when she asked to join him. Not enthusiastic, no hint of the same person who had written all those wonderful letters—flat.

Like she is unanticipated, but manageable cargo. A golden horse.

—

Kara Kara Bazaar buzzes to life with activity around dusk. There is a nice breeze off the oasis and the air is cool enough that people start to drift away from the safety of the shade. All the merchants also heavily discount the food at risk of spoiling overnight in an effort to make a final sale. Zelda has never seen Link so giddy. He grins at her over his arms, both full of freshly roasted meat, goat butter, six roasted bass, and an entire hydromelon. It’s enough to feed a family and yet when a small group of researchers asks to join their camp, he sulks, and turns back to the merchants for more.

The group calls themselves “the East Gerudo Desert Survey team”, formally, “the West Gerudo Desert Survey team”, and soon to be “the North Gerudo Desert Survey team” once they learn all they can about the Seven Heroines. They are led by an exceptionally muscular and enthusiastic Hylian named Tauro, who tells Zelda he started off exploring ruins on his own.

“I met Gagaim and Grunyon in the Shadow Hamlet Ruins in Eldin and then we rescued Wordsworth from the Forgotten Temple in Tanagar Canyon. Zazul joined after we explored the Ancient Columns in the Rayne Highlands. As you can see, we’ve gathered a few more along the way, mostly in Faron.” He gestures to the rest of his crew. They don’t try to bow to her or avoid her gaze. Formalities and forms fade away the longer you stay on the road. She remembers this well. Fondly.

Link returns and hands Zelda a skewer of steaming meat with a thick slice of hydromelon. Zelda accepts it and immediately sets it aside to continue speaking to Tauro. “You’ve researched the Zonai Ruins?”

“Oh yes, multiple times. It’s a fascinating site. I make a new discovery every time we go.”

Link lingers in front of them long enough to tug her gaze back to him. He’s looking between the plate of food she set down and Tauro. What was it Robbie used to say one hundred years ago? The way to a man’s research is through his stomach, right? She wants to keep him talking, keep them from packing up, and taking their data with them. Zelda retrieves her plate and hands it to Tauro. “Here, have mine. You must be hungry.”

“Thank you! This looks delicious. Yes, we hardly stopped for lunch. I could probably eat ten plates!” He tears into the meat with his teeth and groans. “So good.”

Link moves away finally. Probably satisfied that the food is being eaten. Tauro continues, “I started logging all the ancient Zonai artifacts several years ago. A bit of a passion project. They aren’t just in Faron. You can find them all over Hyrule.”

“Really? That’s fascinating. May I see?”

“Of course, Princess! Here, do you mind?” Tauro gestures to the spot next to her. Zelda nods enthusiastically and he slides next to her and pulls out a green notebook he keeps buckled to his belt like a dagger. He flips it open and hands it to her. The pages are filled with rough sketches of Zonai Ruins, impressions of carvings, and endless notes deciphering the contents.

“This is remarkable,” Zelda says.

“I had heard you were a bit of a researcher yourself, Princess. This is an honor.”

The fire that has been slowly dying inside her with every shrine that blinks off the Sheikah Slate map suddenly ignites. “Uh, well, yes. I mean, it was never officially sanctioned by my father, but I did study Sheikah Technology and Hyrulean wildlife.”

“You do not need authorization if you have the heart of an explorer! No one officially approved my travels and yet, I have had many! Though, it can be quite dangerous work. We ran into a molduga the other day in the West Barrens. And a few of us recently fella ill; too much time in some of the ruins that go underground. Bad air, contaminated water, dark magic.”

“I’ve been told there are lots of old places in Hyrule people should avoid.” Zelda glances over at Link. He is hastily handing out plates of food, but he catches her eye. It feels natural to want to pull him into the conversation, but then she reminders the Sword is gone and people are reaching for him. This is an opportunity to get someone to reach for her. Link’s literally handed it to her on a plate. She turns her attention back to Tauro and commits to staying there.

“Sure. Loads of them. But what’s the fun in that? To my knowledge, no one else in Hyrule boasts an expertise in Zonai linguistics like me. You think this happened playing it safe? Ha!”

Zelda smiles. “I suppose that is true. Researching requires courage in my forms.”

“Precisely! You get it! We dare to push the boundaries of what is known and go wherever in Hyrule that takes us. You should join us in an exhibition, sometime. You defeated a demon, Princess. Nothing hiding in a cave could stop you.”

Warmth glows in her ears. She smiles and flips a few more pages. There is a full page sketch of a statue resembling an owl. Two giant eyes stare through her. Underneath it, the sentence ‘Zonai deity for wisdom?’ is scribbled.

It always manages to find her.

She sighs and closes the book. “Where will you go next once you see all the ruins in the Gerudo Desert?”

“I was thinking maybe the Thyphlo Ruins.”

Link appears before them, makes a short sound through his nose, a lot like a horse, and hands Tauro another skewer. Tauro takes it and tilts his head.

“I take it that means you’ve been?”

Link nods.

“R-really? I have reason to believe they are connected to the Zonai Ruins in Faron!” What are they like?”

Link drops down beside Zelda with two plates of food. He sets one in her lap, ignoring Tauro completely until Zelda picks it up. He’s unusually close. There is a strange edge to him; she feels it along the long line of his thigh against hers. Like she's thumbing the edge of a blade. It sends a shiver through her body when he looks through his bangs across her at Tauro and signs a single word:

‘Dark.’

—

Zelda liked Riju when they met over a year ago at the Summit. Now, on her second week inside the walls of Gerudo Town, as she sits on the edge of Riju’s bed with a pink sand seal stuffed animal across her lap, and watches the Chief of the Gerudo jump back and forth across her bed giving her best impersonation of a lizalfos, Zelda decides she might just love her as much as she loved Urbosa.

The late Chief has been with Zelda from the moment she stepped into Gerudo Town. Zelda hears her deep laughter echoing in the alleyways, sees flashes of her beauty in the ceramics and gems embedded into sandstone walls, and feels her love in the warmth of her welcoming people. They permit Link to enter the village and immediately confiscate his sirwal and veil. He’s allowed to wear the corresponding voe set to help with the heat during their stay, but they tell him that it would be staying with the Gerudo when he leaves as well.

He’s training with Teake now. He’s cooled off since the awkward encounter with Tauro in the Bazaar, and although he seemed genuinely disappointed to lose both of his Gerudo sets, any gloom lingering over him disappeared when he was invited to barracks to train.

Zelda remembers it was one of the first things Urbosa would do when she met them anywhere a century ago.

Test your strength, Hero? If you’re going to be protecting my little bird, you had better be prepared.

Zelda has tears in her eyes when Riju finally stops hopping and collapses onto her stomach. The tears don’t stop when the laughter dies off. Vah Naboris will disappear into the endless sandsea in the morning and it’s like they are finally burying Urbosa’s body, too. Daruk is already resting. Revali and Mipha may already be gone, too.

Zelda pressing her fists against her eyes so hard it hurts. She feels Riju move beside her. There is a warm hand on her shoulder. For a second it almost feels like—

“I miss her so much,” Zelda whimpers.

“I was told how close the Hylian Queen and Lady Urbosa were. And when the Queen passed, Lady Urbosa vowed you would always know a mother’s love,” Riju says softly.

Zelda pulls her fists away from her eyes and wraps her arms around herself to contain the sob that threatens to shake her entire body. She sees the way Link held his hands when he told her about the Champion’s gifts. Zelda chokes and sputters out the words, paraphrasing him for the second time in a week. “I-I have to let her go. All of them.”

Voices carry up from the barracks through the open windows into the adobe. There is a mighty clash of metal and a lively and familiar call that means Link is engaged in a sparring match. Without the Master Sword, without the Sheikah Slate on his hip.

She has a vision of the Great Plateau Tower completely drained of its power and a map of Hyrule without any shrine left to clear. Link crosses Hyrule Field without passing a single guardian shell, no longer haunted by the glowing eyes that hunted him a century ago. Nothing mechanical and towering looms over the towns and cities and villages that survived Calamity's corruption.

It’s beautiful and necessary and yet, all Zelda feels is grief.

“It’s hard to explain, but a hundred years doesn’t feel like enough time. It passed through me differently than the rest of you…in some ways, I felt every agonizing second of time, and in others, with this, it only feels like it’s been a year. One year since I lost them.”

“Princess,” Riju gently takes Zelda’s hands and pulls them away from the crushing hold she has on her body. “Just because you let them go, does not mean all that love goes away with them. You can still carry it with you. In fact, I hope you do. Grief is a reminder of connectedness; of the endurance of true love. It means Lady Urbosa kept her promise to your mother.”

Link kept his promise, too. Fulfilled his oath. It would be unfair to hold him to words they never had the chance to speak out loud. Who knows, given her track record recently, it could have all been a gross misinterpretation on her part. The pull of duty and devotion feels a lot like the inescapable gravity of love. He’s changed now, and in many ways, for the better. And with the Master Sword gone, his burden will be eased moving forward. He is as free as the Wild that saved him.

As long as she can let him go.

“You’re right.” Zelda wipes her face quickly and nods a half dozen times. “Okay, yes. Thank you, Riju. Urbosa would be so proud to know you are protecting her people.”

“I don’t know about protecting just yet. Whether Urbosa’s Fury remains within me or not once Vah Naboris is gone, my official training begins tomorrow. And I plan to, well, I guess why not just- well- hold on.” Riju scrambles off the side of her bed in a careful pattern so as not to disturb her collection of stuffed seals. She disappears into a side room and then emerges a second later with a pair of scimitars.

“Buliara had these made for me. They are an exact replica of Lady Urbosa’s. The original sword was given to–”

“Link. Yes, I’ve seen it,” Zelda says, taking one of the scimitars from Riki’s outstretched hand. He keeps all the Champion’s weapons mounted in his house in Hateno. The memory of the first time she noticed it punches her square in the chest.

How is she supposed to stop loving him? He’s here, thank the Goddess, he’s still here, but that means there is no closure. She can’t bury this love. Maybe she can channel it, take this pain and pour it into something new? Tauro did invite her to join an exhibition. Maybe he will let her join his crew or she can follow in his footsteps and set off on her own to rediscover Hyrule. If she must remain alone in the past, the least she can do is learn from it.

“You should cut your hair,” Riju says.

“W-what?”

“Vah Naboris’ time is ending. My training begins. I will be focusing all my energy, all my time on becoming a fierce warrior for my people. I can’t do that with all this unnecessary weight .” Riju flips the massive braid of thick copper hair over shoulder. “It’s time to shed what we do not need. Start fresh. Be lighter. You should do it with me!”

“What–now? With this?”

“It is the sharpest blade in Gerudo Town.”

Zelda glances between Riju and scimitar. The emerald laid into the gold of the folded guard is the exact shade Urbosa’s eyes were. In the candlelight, they flash. Wink.

Zelda takes a breath, gathers her hair up away from her face in one hand, and swipes the blade with the other in a sweeping, cathartic, and incredibly impulsive arch.

The length of her hair drops down next to her. Instantly, Zelda can draw breath deeper. The release of weight she hadn’t even known she was carrying makes room for laughter. Deep and rich and exactly like her Geurdo mother’s.

Riju squeals and kicks her feet out in front of her. “Amazing! Amazing! Okay, me next, me next!”

—

Riju’s scimitars are sharp, but they are not well suited for hair cutting. And although Riju told Buliara of her intentions to chop off her hair, a spontaneous, uneven cut with a sword is not what her personal bodyguard and guardian regent of the Gerudo tribe had in mind. Thankfully, all of the warriors have secondary skills, and surprisingly, captain Teake happens to be proficient with scissors.

Zelda turns her head back and forth, testing the feeling of hair just brushing her shoulders. Teake had to take more off to correct Zelda’s lopsided cut. Riju had been more thoughtful, using her braid as a guide.

“What do you think?” Zelda asks Link suddenly. Since the cut, she’s felt a little bolder. Courageous.

He gives her a thumbs up.

“Your hair's getting long. Do you want Teake to trim it?”

He shakes his head, pulls the thin blue headband from his wrist and wiggles it between his fingers. He gathers his hair back into a messy knot and nods.

“Yes, I suppose it’s rather convenient to still be able to do that. Hm.” She attempts to do the same, testing the new length in her hands. Thick pieces of blonde immediately fall around her face.

‘You’ll figure it out. It looks good short,’ he signs. His cheeks glow pink faintly. She tucks the hair behind her ears a few times to soothe the longing in her chest. She’s grown wise enough to know it's just the sun.

“Excuse me?” A Gerudo child tugs on the seam of Zelda’s sirwal. Zelda crouches down so they are eye level. The girl has eyes like amber stones.

“Yes?”

“Are you the same princess we met before? The one from the castle?”

Zelda hesitates, the opportunity to recreate herself, even temporarily, dangles like a carrot dripping with honey. “I am.”

“You look different. I like it.” The girl eagerly hugs Zelda around the neck and then takes off in the direction of the market.

“Children like you, yes?” Riju sets her hands on her hips.

Zelda stands and fixes her hair again. She thinks about the stable children and smiles. “I suppose they do.”

“You should teach. It’s a gift not many are blessed with,” Riju says.

Something clicks into place in her head. She looks at Link, whom she saddled with assumptions a week prior over a similar comment. Thinking the worst of it and him since.

He’s smiling. It’s almost painful how handsome he is when he looks so casually sure of himself.

The resolve to release him hangs by a thread.

‘See?’ he signs.

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