#i never thought this would be the game to force me to start drawing faces

[morebird]

Hey, soldier.

[ellieslittlewh0re]

chapped lips - seattle! ellie x wlf reader

summary - you’re kinda new to the wlf and when your group gets taken out by scars, you’re left alone… at least that’s what you thought until a girl knocks you unconscious and holds you hostage.

wk - 5k

additional tags - revenge! ellie, interrogation play, canon game violence, blood! mention, gun play, name calling, mean! ellie, rough lesbian sex, fingering (e! and reader both receiving) humping?, reader! is a little off her rockers bc she me fr, use of the word daddy (im sorry), degrading (e! to reader), thigh riding, name calling (crazy bitch, slut, whore), this is literally canon seattle! ellie in all her glory, no physical description of reader

It don't know how it happened. I was supposed to go to my post and take out any scars that I came across. Basically, it was suppose to be a normal, average day. I got up at the usual time, ate what I normally would eat before heading out and hell.. I was even was with the usual group that I was always working with. Posted up in a less trafficked area had us comfy, cocky even. My group had their guards down. Me included. Sneaky assholes got the high ground on us.

I don't know if I was the only one who made it. In the chaos of guns firing, arrows flying and the screams of my people being slaughtered, I had ducked into a building in downtown Seattle. Up until now I didn't even know this building was here since we never bothered to send anyone out this far from base.

"Fuck." I take a deep breath, steadying the gun I clutched in my hands. I draw it, pointing it towards the front door and windows that lined up facing the street. I scan with my gun looking for anything really. Scars, anyone from my group that may have survived. Any movement at all but it was silent. Bodies littered the street. I recognize a comrades body that laid lifeless on a hood of a rusted taxi.

I can't stay here. I thought to myself, cowering behind a counter still squeezing the pistol in my hands.

"C'mon. You got this." I take a few deep breaths to gain to courage to get the fuck out of there. I squeeze my eyes shut for just a moment when a slight squeak of the linoleum floor alerted me. I snap my head to the direction of the noise. A flash of color and something came down heavy on my head then everything went black.

"Hey-"

Was I dreaming?

"Wake up."

Who's voice is that? Did I dream the whole thing? I am waking up for the first time and my whole grouped didn't just get killed in front of me.

*slap*

My eyes fly open and my head is pounding. I blink repeatedly trying to take in the surroundings. It didn't look like my barracks room. My cheek began to sting and I go to touch it, but I couldn't.

"About time."

I follow the voice looking up. It was a girl. A girl I didn't recognize.

"What? who'r you?" I groan in agony. My head felt like it was going to explode and my wrists started to go numb. I look up to my hands that were cuffed to a drawer above me. Skin red around where the metal was digging in. This definitely wasn't a dream.

"Where's Abby?" She knelt down in front of me using a bat to steady herself. Her voice was raspy, demanding and didn't sound like she was looking to make a friend.

"Who?" My voice went up a pitch from annoyance. Who the fuck is this girl and why the fuck is she holding me hostage.

"Don't play dumb. Abby Anderson. She's one of you." She takes her index finger and moves it up to the patch on my jacket.

"You think I know every wolf? There's fucking hundreds of us." I shove my shoulder into her hand, forcing her touch away.

"For your sake you should probably think a little harder." She stood and hovered over me, adjusting the grip on the bat she was wielding.

"Or?- What? You're going to kill me?" I let out a humorless chuckle. I furrow my brows at her, puffing out my chest trying to come off as intimidating even if I was the one restrained.

"It's your last chance." She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, her knuckles turning white from her firm grip on the bat.

"Fuck you." I spat. Yanking on cuffs, but it didn't help. I felt the stinging around my wrist intensify and a warm trickle down my arm. I didn't know why I was fighting anymore. I didn't want to be apart of the this group in the first place but they had guns and food, things necessary to survive and I wanted to keep living. It felt like it was going to be cut short anyways when I notice her bring the bat over her head and throw it down towards my face.

"WAIT!" I flinch and scream just before it could make contact causing her to pause. I take a few deep, shaky breaths as she crouched down in front of me once again.

"You said Abby... Blonde hair? Works out a lot?" Too scared to make eye contact I keep my eyes fixated on the girls shoes. Dirty converse that were worn and stained with blood.

"Where." She wasn't asking she was demanding. Her tone was sharp and cold which made me flinch.

"No- no one has seen her since yesterday..." a tremble could be heard in my voice. I shut my eyes and brace for the wood. Either she's not going to believe me and kill me or it wasn't what she'd want to hear and kill me.

"Bull-fucking-shit." She chucked lightly but it wasn't out of humor.

"It's the truth. She left without permission yesterday and hasn't come back." I gain the courage to look in her eyes and stand my ground. Hoping that she'd just believe me and let me go.

She stood, pacing back in forth dragging the bat behind her.

"Please- just let me go.... I won't say anything. I'll just pretend-" I was cut off by the shattering of glass. I got on my feet and peek over the counter at the front windows. Familiar whistles and people in homemade leather jackets start to flank the building.

"Fuck me." The girl cursed under her breath, taking cover behind a shelving unit a few feet from me.

"Unlock it." I demanded. Pulling at the cuffs.

"Fuck no. You'll just kill me as soon as you get the chance." She held her pistol firming by the side of her head, peaking around the shelves. A arrow flew past her, missing by a few centimeters.

"No... I'll help kill these fuckers and then I'll try to kill you." My patience was wearing thin and she seemed to appreciate the honesty. She readied herself, taking a few steps back and then running across the open fire, sliding herself next to me.

"Don't move."

"Wait- why?-" I was cut off by the sound her gun firing and I felt a burning sensation in between my wrists. I felt my hands free from the awkward position.

"Give me my gun." I held my hand out, peaking over the counter in a frenzied state. She hesitates making me look at her in frustration. My eyes widen in a 'what the fuck are you doing' kind of way.

"We kill these fuckers first. Yeah?" She raised her brows at me with a nod. I roll my eyes at her and huff.

"Oh my fucking god-" I was cut off by the sound of more glass shattering and gun fire, casing me to flinch.

She slapped down the weapon in my open palm and give me a look of 'you ready?' and I nod back to her.

She fires gun shots at the entrance as I make it over to the other side of the building. I keep myself concealed, ducking and sliding behind furniture as I try to take them by surprise. I find a broken window and jump out of it and take cover behind the same taxi except now blood poured from the hood. I peak from behind the car and take aim at a scar that was further behind the rest. I steady my hand and shoot casing him to go down. The sound of my gun alerting another one. He aims his rifle at me, but it was too late I let another bullet fire, hitting him in the chest. The girl who was once my captor was now my partner for the time being. She proved herself useful and skilled. She'd taken out a few that were closest to the building, making more flood the front which just made it easier for me.

The sound of gun firing had stopped, leaving the sound of wind that rustled the trash in the streets. I scan the street and slowly start to stand up from behind the car when I felt a hand throw me backwards by my hair.

"AH!" I scream, trying to pry the hands from my scalp. A large man with a machete crawled on top of me. I reach for my gun that fell to my side but he tosses it out of reach. I hit and claw at the bald man's face which made him put his knees on my arms, leaving me completely helpless against his strength.

"Such a pretty little thing." The man sneers and I felt him wrap his hands around my throat. I gasp and flail trying to loosen myself from him, but I couldn't. He squeezed harder and harder, making my vision go blurry and I heard ringing in my ears. It started to go dark again but I heard one last *pop* and the tension around my neck relaxed. I gasp and cough, not really sure what happened. I felt warm liquid pool down my neck in chest. I look down to see the now dead man partially on top of me, open wound to the back of his head. I push him off and crawl out from underneath him.

"What the fuck is wrong with these people." I continue to try and catch my breath, wiping away the blood splatter and sweat off of my face.

"You're welcome."

My state of adrenaline induced shock was interrupted by the girls voice. I turn to her in disbelief that one: she killed somebody to save me and two: she had the nerve to crack a joke right now.

"I didn't ask for your help." I pick my gun off of the ground, shoving it into the waist of my jeans.

"Oh? So you wanted him to kill you?" She sounded annoyed that I didn't kiss her feet for the favor.

"What does it matter? You're going to kill me anyways!" I throw my hands up as my voice grew louder. I hear her sigh and suck her teeth. I didn't understand her. She was fully intended on bashing my head open, but then she had a change of heart and saves me?

"If you're done here can we get this over with?" I snap at her and start to walk back into the building.

"Not here. Not safe anymore."

I paused briefly, confused by her words. 'Not safe anymore' what does that matter if you're just going to kill me?

I follow her a few blocks away making sure to hang a few feet back. I would be so easy to shoot her right now and she'd have no idea. I should shoot her. I mean she knocked me unconscious, cuffed me and threatened to kill me. It's clear she has issues with the WLF and specifically this Abby chick. Whatever it is, I don't care. I have my own personal beef with the WLF and this girl she's looking for isn't my friend or anyone special to me so maybe that's why I didn't shoot her.

"Seriously where the fuck are we going?" I break the silence and my voice echoed throughout the street.

"Somewhere secure." She answered but continued to look straight ahead.

We continued to walk for another half hour or so, the only noise was the sound of our feet shuffling pebbles and debris that littered the roads.

"How much further?" My agitation grew with each passing minute. Growing more anxious that I had no idea what this girl plans to do with me.

"Stop bitching. We're here." She stopped in her place making me almost run into her.

I look up at the sign on the front of the building that read 'Pinnacle Theater' and scoffed.

"Is now the best time to watch a movie?"

"It's safe." She snapped, turning back to shoot me a glare.

Safe? Safe from what? The only thing that's a threat to my safety right now is her so why did she bring me here?

"Whatever." I roll my eyes and follow her into the building.

I take in the surroundings of the theater. The large burgundy curtains that hung on the walls gave it a gaudy, over the top feel. Once fancy chairs and couches were now coated in a thick layer of dust and mildew. My attention to the interior of the large room was diverted to a rattling behind me.

"What are you doing?" I furrow my brows at her in confusion as she was putting the legs of a chair in between the handles of the doors.

"Do you want more of those assholes showing up?" She spit back, sounding annoyed that I had the audacity to question her. I roll my eyes once again at her attitude, crossing my arms over chest in a way to shield myself.

"Sit." The seriousness of her tone snapped me out of thoughts and caused me to look at her. Her brows were slightly furrowed and her jaw was tense, making her bone structure more defined than it already was. I was scared of her so I obeyed, slowly lowering myself on a nearby couch while keeping my eyes on her. If she was going to make a move I didn't want to be caught off guard.

"Where's Abby?" She took a few steps closer to me and maintained a hateful stare.

"I told you... she left."

I watch her face contort from my words. The slight flare of her nostrils and the curl of her lip made my heart start to pound faster. She started to pace again... forward a few steps and turning around and doing the same, repeating her movements. A fuse was being snapped the longer I watched her, a switch within that was half-way being flipped. She stopped her pacing and lunged at me, whipping out her pistol out of her back pocket to point it at my face.

"Where?" Her voice became course and there was a slight tremble.

"Pl-please.... I told you already. I've just joined the WLF a few months ago... I don't know anything." I flinch. Breaking the eye contact turning my face away, squeezing my eyes shut.

I hear her take a quick breath and then the cocking of her gun. I let out a whimper, squeezed my eyes even tighter and braced for what's to come.

"Fuck-" She breathed heavily and I hear her take a few steps back lowering her gun. I timidly open my eyes and watch her as she sits on the ground. Her head hung low in between her legs that were propped up. Her hand was still clutched around the handle of her gun but I noticed the tremble of her free hand. She breathed heavily, slowly like she was trying to sooth herself. The tough act that she put on up until this point was now crumbling beneath her feet.

I didn't know what to do. Part of me wanting to flee and another part of me wanted to comfort her which confused me. I don't know her and our first time meeting each other wasn't really all that pleasant, but she was hurting and that was something that I could connect with. I hear her sniffle and she quickly goes to wipe the tears.

"Hey-" I start to get up but was rudely stopped by her pointing her gun as she stood and took a few steps back.

"I-I'm not going to hurt you if you don't hurt me." I held my hands up high for her to see as I slowly reach into my waistband as she followed my movements with her gun. The sound of mental hitting the carpeted floor bounced off the walls. Maybe I'm trusting her too much by discarding the only weapon I had to defend myself, but I felt like she didn't want to hurt me she just felt like she had no other choice.

"See?" I lower my hands back down to my side as she looked at me with confusion, the grip on her weapon tightening.

"You think I won't?" She took a few strides forward, now leaving me at arm's length with only a few inches between the tip of her gun and my chest. My teeth clench and I break out in a cold sweat.

"No. I don't." I take a small step forward allowing her gun to dig into my chest. I felt coldness of the barrel through my clothes. My breath hitched and a shudder ran up my spine. The girl looked at me in disbelief, glancing at my partly opened lips and the contact of her gun.

"You're fucking crazy." She chuckled lowly.

"Maybe." I whispered as I tilt my head to the side. We stood in this position for what felt like hours but in reality probably only a few seconds had gone by. I noticed her breathing pick up as she fixed her eyes on the cleavage that poured out the top of my low cut shirt. A realization hit me when I noticed what she was looking at. She was turned on by what she saw. I didn't know if it was simply because she found me attractive or the whole holding me at gunpoint and at her mercy was just a fucked up kink of hers.

Getting a closer look at her face she was quite beautiful, handsome almost. Bright green eyes framed by dark long lashes, freckles dispensed unevenly across her face, full lips that had a scar that ran through the top corner and how her dark auburn hair was tied up messily in a half up- half down style. Her sharpe bone structure making her seem more masculine and how she carried herself was much more of a man. She was a type of girl I hardly came across and she was exactly my type.

I grab her gun slowly and push it down and to my surprise she didn't retaliate. I take one last step forward until we are chest to chest. I didn't realize it before, but she is much taller than me. She could easily overpower me and I just hoped it didn't come down to that. I subconsciously bit down on my lip as I look at her parted mouth, I felt her breath brush against my own.

"What are you doing?" She breathed, leaning in slightly looking perplexed.

"If you're not going to kill me then what else are we going to do?" I blink wide-eyed at her, cocking my head slightly as a whininess took over my voice. The corner of her lips tugged up into a devilish smirk.

Her hand gripped tightly on arm, forcing me backwards. She pushed me down on the couch, pining my back against it as she got on top and straddled my legs.

"You really are fucking crazy." She gritted through her teeth before I felt her lips clash against mine. Her lips were chapped and felt rough against my own. The aggression and desperation of her kiss caused me to moan as her tongue slipped into my mouth. I felt fingers tips drag over my thin fabric top before she squeezed my breast harshly.

"Fuck-" I break the kiss, looking at her through half hooded eyes. I was panting looking up at the girl as she looked down on me with hunger. I felt a heat building in my core making my decision making fuzzy. I roll my head to the side and noticed her hand still holding onto her gun. Dark green-blue ink that came together into a delicate looking drawing covered almost her entire forearm.

Her fingers were long and small cuts and scrapes covered them. I imagined what she would feel like inside of me which caused a small whine to leave my lips. Maybe I am crazy...because why the fuck am I having these thoughts when she is holding a gun this close to my head all the while making out with me? She glanced to where I was looking and caught me deep in my thoughts.

"Does this turn you on? Huh?" She lifted her hand that held the weapon and swayed it in front of my face, almost in a way of trying to shame me.

A whimper escaped my lips unintentionally and a deep-rooted desire was coming to the surface. I don't know if it was the stress or how attracted I was to her, but being scared of her just made me all the more aroused.

"You're so fucked up." She humiliates me like she was on a power trip as she pressed the tip of the gun to my temple. My body shudders as I felt the icy metal brush against my skin.

"Pl-please..." I whine at her, begging her to do something about the heat building in my pussy. I squeeze my thighs together underneath her as tears start to form in my eyes.

"Please what? Use your words princess." She kissed slowly at my neck.

"Touch me." I breathe out, my voice trembling.

I hear a giggle and her breath in my neck.

"Name's Ellie. Use it." She sternly demanded. Her voice rough and almost hoarse.

"Ellie- I need you t-to touch me." My hips started to grind the air, desperate for some sort of friction.

"Good girl." I felt her teeth dig into my neck before lifting herself back up to look down at me. She kept her eyes on my own as she placed her gun down, probably making sure I wouldn't try to grab it. Her hands move down to unbutton my pants and I lift my ass, allowing her to remove them completely. My breathing hitched as she cupped my pussy, gently rubbing small circles over my underwear.

"Fuuuck- you're so fucking wet for me even though I tried to kill you. You're such a crazy bitch." Her choice of words made the throbbing more intense.

I moan as I move my hips against her hand, head rolling back as I focus on getting myself off but she pulled her hand away before I could.

I watch her confused as she lifts herself off of me and then sitting back down.

"Get on top." She sounded impatient, patting her leg.

I hesitantly crawl further down the couch, lifting one leg over her thigh and holding her shoulders to steady me.

I felt her fingers wrapped behind my neck pulling me in to reconnect our lips. Her tongue forced its way into my mouth as I let out another moan. The thin fabric of my underwear, now soaked, made the ridges of her jeans more apparent.

"Mm fuck- el-lie." My hips started to rock back and forth against her leg.

"That's it. Use me, slut." She gritted, molding various parts of my exposed skin in between her fingers.

I felt her hands grab the hem of my shirt, pulling it over my head. She kissed and bit at the delicate skin between my breast, but it wasn't enough. She pulled my bra down so the straps hung off of my shoulders, leaving my chest exposed. Her mouth enveloped my nipple, sucking and then biting it gently.

"Fuuu- mmm-" Biting my lip to silence my wines as I felt goosebumps form on my exposed skin.

My hand wondered down to the button on her jeans as steadied myself with the other.

"C-can I?" I ask for permission through wet eyelashes, eyebrows furrowed upwards but was already unzipping her pants and slipping my hand inside. Her hand that harshly gripped my side came up around my throat causing me to pause. I felt her fingers squeeze around my neck but she didn't say anything. I study her expression trying to understand if she wanted me to stop. Her eyes were dark and filled with lust, lips parted as her chest rose and fell from her rapid breathing. I cautiously slipped my fingers in between her folds, feeling the slickness of her arousal.

"Fuck-" She leaned her head back against the couch and adjusted her hips, allowing me easier access. She rocked her pussy into my fingers as I did the same on her thigh. Seeing her in this submissive position and at mercy to what I was doing to her made my heat burn hotter. She must have felt the way I was watching her and switched back to her more controlling behavior, slipping her hand in my underwear.

"Mmmm-" I bit down on my lip, throwing my head back while still trying to keep my rhythm on her pussy. I dragged my cunt against her fingers. My hole dripping and coating her hand and letting her slip her finger in easily.

"Ahh... Fuck.. yes Ellie- j-just like that." I started to bounce my pussy on her finger, leaning back and grabbing the back of my calf with one hand to keep me stabilized while the other sloppily encircled her clit.

"Keep doing that baby.." She breathed heavily and her words broken while still trying to maintain her position of power, but she was weakened from my touch. Her aggressive, harsh tone was now much softer and feminine. Her whimpers and moans sounded like honey coated candies, sweet and sounded like music to my ears. Her breathing quickened and the distance between her cries were getting shorter. Her eyes squeezed shut as her head tilted back, signaling she was close.

"Fuck- I'm-" Her jaw hung open and her body tensed underneath me.

"C-cum fr' me Ellie.." I bounced lazily on her fingers, wet sloshes and strained moaning filled the room. I slowed my pace against her clit as her hips stilled and then buckled, leaving her limp for a few seconds.

Her chest rising and falling deeply as she caught her breath. She looked at me with wide eyes then shifted back to the girl I first met. Her eyes darkened and her jaw tensed, lifting herself as she held into my thigh putting me beneath her once again. I look up at her with sex drunk eyes, pulling her down to feel her chapped lips on mine. I held onto the sides of her face as we tasted each other, savoring every last drop.

"You're so f'ckn sexy baby." She panted, reaching down and rushing to tug my underwear out of her way.

"Mmm Fuuu—" I moan, bitting my bottom lip as I felt her fingers slip between my folds.

"M' not gonna go easy on you." She mumbled into my neck, leaving a wet trail of kisses behind my ear.

"G-good." My voice trembled as I felt a finger enter and a second follow shortly behind. Her pace quickened and my eyes start to fill with tears. I look up at her through wet eye lashes, pitiful and dazed. I pull her head down and kiss her deeply, moaning into her mouth.

Her fingers pounded into my cunt without mercy, leaving my body limp and unable to control myself. My moans turned to screaming as her wrist slapped against my clit with each thrust. The fingers of her free hand dug into my leg that was draped over her shoulder as she gently placed kisses to my calf.

"M' so close..." I cry out, tear stained cheeks as I study her face, her watching how my pussy takes her fingers. Her brows furrowed, her mouth hung open ever so slightly. The sweat glistened on her nose and forehead from the rigorous movements. The milky fluid of my sex coated her knuckles.

"You like it rough- huh?" She gritted through her teeth, grabbing the back of my thigh and pushing it forward, allowing the pressure to dig deeper.

"Oh- ohhh Fuuck.. y- yes daddy.. mm-" I barely can make out, eyes rolled back into my head as she fucks against my cervix.

"Be a good girl- Cum fr' daddy." Her raspy, sex driven voice ricocheted through my body. My back arched, my head fuzzy as I grabbed the couch cushion. The air was sticky and thick as my hips rolled and twitched sporadically, not being able to control my movements. I watch her through blurred vision, the silhouette of her hazy from my tear filled eyes. My jaw falls open, my eyes squeeze shut and my climax rolls throughout my body like waves. Bolts of electricity course through me causing my hips to jolt. She slows her pace against my cunt, riding me out until my body stills.

I lay motionless, body splayed out on the couch as I catch my breath. My pussy continued to throb from the sudden absence. I felt her sit down on the couch just below my propped-up knees, causing me to look down at her from my horizontal position. She examined her fingers, still wet, and brought them to her mouth.

"You taste so good baby.. I need more."

[xiaoseminence]

I’m not sure if you do these but

An imposter!sagau with a creator (gn??)who just keeps resurrecting when they die, like their body disintegrates and reforms in the same spot like a minute later

Anyway Zhongli’s reaction to killing the creator, then watching their golden blood spill everywhere and realise with horror what he did

Only for creator to resurrect not even five minutes later, but with massive obvious trust issues (and Zhongli’s subsequent extreme guilt)

It’s a guilt fic im asking you to write a guilt fic

𓆩♡𓆪 Divine Retribution 𓆩♡𓆪 (Genshin SAGAU Scenario) (Imposter AU!)

Summary ➵✬ Mislead by a false idol, Rex Lapis commits the ultimate act of heresy. It’s only when the blood of the real creator stains his hands a golden color that he realizes what he just did. 

Warnings ➵✬ Heavy Yandere, Mild depictions of blood/violence, Worship/Religious practices, Dark Topics, Depictions of emotional distress, Reader dies but not really

Despite how much your legs ached and your lungs seemed about ready to combust, you were slowly but surely starting to realize that you’d never be able to outrun him. If anything, it was as if he was toying with you, his disembodied voice whispering fury filled words into your ears as tears streamed down your face. 

“Sinner, Miscreant! You vile creature will meet your justice at my hands today”

You never asked for any of this. The initial excitement of discovering you’d awoken in the world of your favorite game, surrounded by the many characters you’d grown to know and love, soon turned into icy fear once you saw the look in their eyes. From the very first moment any of them met you, they looked at you with such disdain and malice, they’d curse at you, call you “Imposter” or “Monster”, and chase you away. So far you managed to outrun them all, hiding in the rural regions of Liyue without showing your face to a single soul. But as soon as he was informed about your existence, your life was running on limited time. 

“Their eminence will be delighted to see your head on a stake, hung above the walls of their palace. Demons like you should know that only death awaits you in the land of the creator”

A loud cry erupted from your throat as you felt a piercing pain in one of your legs. One look back revealed a golden spear embedded deeply in your flesh. Although you tried to keep running, it resulted only in a pathetic limp before you collapsed to the ground shortly after. The black cloak you had grown accustomed to wearing hid your form from the archon that was drawing closer and closer to your shivering body. The countless scrapes and bruises that covered you from head to toe after running for such a long time felt more painful than ever before. The golden blood flowing through your veins ever since you first came to this world was absorbed by the dark cloth, remaining as nothing but a barely visible stain. 

His steps were slow and silent as he lazily stalked up to you. To him, you were wounded prey - and he was the predator about to devour you whole. Finally stepping in front of you, his gloved hands reached out to harshly grab your chin, forcing you to look straight into his amber colored eyes that were burning with resentment. 

“It seems as though the little pest has finally been caught in the trap. Speak, Rat. Dare you defend your actions of besmirching the divine creator’s name with your hideous attempt to copy their form?” 

He always seemed like such a grounded and wise character, yet as you were met with his perfect features pulled into a dangerous snarl, it was difficult to believe that this was the same person. An involuntary whine spilled past your lips as his grip on your jaw grew stronger to the point that you thought your skull would break apart. 

“I don’t know what crime you keep accusing me of. I never hurt anyone!”, it came out as a desperate plea for mercy, yet something inside you told you that it didn’t matter whether you were to beg on your knees or spit in his face - the archon of geo remained as unmoving in his resolve to kill you as mountain, ever unfazed by its surroundings. 

“Pathetic.” - He all but growled this word as his eyes seemed to grow as hard as gold. Before you could even realize what was happening, a harsh push had your back painfully colliding with the muddy ground below. The tip of his golden spear dematerialized from its place embedded in your thigh, instead appearing only inches from your (e/c) eyes. You were scared to blink, even scared to breathe - in fear that the spear would come crashing down on you before you knew it. Your face - the face that everyone seemed to resent you for - was staring right at the archon who would be your killer. 

For only a fraction of a moment, his amber eyes seemed to soften, their color appearing gentle and warm like molten pools of caramel. Yet this moment was soon over, as an even harsher scowl appeared on his features. 

“How dare you? You really thought you’d be able to fool their grace’s most devoted worshiper?”, he hissed, as if it was somehow your fault that you looked similar to the deity they revered. 

“You don’t deserve to utter any last words”

Before your mouth could open to let out one last defiant scream, before your muscles could contract and roll you to the side, away from danger, a sharp pain shot through your forehead - all but seeming to split your head in half as the spear found its place in your skull. The last thing your tired eyes noticed was a single splatter of shimmering, golden blood - before finally… your vision faded to black. 

In all his years of seeing war, bloodshed, famine and death, the archon of Liyue never once faltered in his conviction toward his creator. Even after losing those who held close to his heart, his faith gave him the strength to carry onward - his body seemingly fueled only by sheer devotion. Yet in this very moment, as a single splatter of golden blood hit his face, he never felt more pathetic. Not a single muscle in his form dared to even so much as twitch, as the only feeling aside from his own heartbeat thundering painfully in his chest was the warm liquid sliding down his cheek. It seared him, felt so hot against his skin that he was sure it was a warning of what hellfire would await him after what he had done. 

“I- Your grace?”, his words were barely above a whimper, hand outstretched as if to touch them, assure himself that he hadn’t done what he feared he had. Although he tried to convince himself that he must be mistaken, the endlessly empty feeling in his chest confirmed what he deep down already knew to be true. He had killed them. 

ɢᴏᴅꜱʟᴀʏᴇʀ - ʜᴇʀᴇᴛɪᴄ - ᴅɪꜱꜱᴇɴᴛᴇʀ

The words kept repeating themselves endlessly in his mind. With a broken sob his knees gave out under him, allowing his body to fall onto the cold ground. He felt like he was burning from the inside, hellfire coursing through his veins, yet his shaking hands still reached out for his creator’s limp body. His gloves had long since been discarded, thrown aside and forgotten in the damp grass. “What a fool I am, your grace. What hubris led me to believe that I could be your most devoted servant, the one to lay the world at your feet when in the end… it was I who fell for a false idol?” 

He wanted to cradle his deity in his arms, let the tears that spilled from his eyes wash away his sins and their blood. His face felt tainted, dirty - sullied with the blood of his one and only god. Blood that he had spilled. When his hands should have touched the body lying motionless on the ground, he was met with nothing but shimmering dust. The creator had disappeared. 

It mattered little to Rex Lapis what would become of this world, of the inhabitants of Liyue and all those he swore to protect. Nothing in this world would ever matter again without the gentle guidance of the creator. 

“Please, I beg you! Please punish me! I deserve a punishment worse than death”- He bowed down so deeply that he could feel the cool ground against his face. He was ready to beg and atone for as long as it took for you to punish him. He would accept anything, anything at all - but he couldn’t live knowing he’d been abandoned by you. A life without your presence was a greater torture to him than his mind could even fathom - if you stayed gone… he would break apart. 

“Please… come back”, he had yelled and cried to the point his lungs started to hurt, and by now his voice was nothing above a raspy whisper. What a pathetic shadow of himself the archon had become. 

You often wondered what the afterlife would be like. Would you end up waking up in yet another game world? Or… would dying perhaps give you a chance to go back home? Home, where you belonged and many friendly souls were waiting for you, people who wouldn’t curse and spit at you, forcing you to go into hiding for so long. Yet death did not come to you as easily as you expected, as when you opened your eyes again…

A cloud of shimmering golden dust was surrounding you like a cocoon. When it all at once burst open, you were met with a rather startling sight. Before you knelt Rex Lapis - or Zhongli as you’d first come to know him in the game. Yet to your surprise, nothing seemed to remain of the unshakable mountain he appeared as before. He was shivering, near silent sobs racking his body uncontrollably. 

The slight golden shimmer in his peripheral vision made him freeze. His teary eyes raised themselves at a snail’s pace - too scared was he that it was a mere illusion of his desperate mind. Yet when he met your mortified gaze, he couldn’t help but cry out in relief. 

“Your grace! I will repent! Whatever you want, for however long you see fit-”, the male practically flung himself at your feet, hands grasping all too eagerly at your stiff legs. His touch was gentle, but you knew it would be impossible to get him to let you go if he saw it fit to hold you in place. He was looking up at you with such… passion? It felt as though you could see right through his eyes, into a burning fire of devotion. This was far different to how anyone ever looked at you before in this world. They tended to gaze at you with either disdain or a twisted kind of pity that made you feel sick to your stomach. It scared you far more than if he had been angry, swinging at you with that spear of his. 

“L-let me go! Don’t touch me!”, you frantically cried out, moving backwards so quickly that you fell over.

His expression immediately fell, an almost empty look replacing his formerly so fiery expression. 

“I understand, your grace”, his breath shuddered as he instantly let you go, hands retracting so fast, it seemed as though your skin had burned him. 

“I will prove my worth to you. Command me as you wish. No matter what you order me to do, who you want me to kill. If you want me to mutilate and torture myself I will be happy to do so, I’d burn all of Liyue down in a heartbeat if you so desired -  if only to cleanse myself of the sin I have committed” 

His fervent, desperate devotion was far more terrifying than his wrath could ever be.  Word count ➵✬ 1850 Note ➵✬ Thank you for my very first request

[plussizefantasia]

Don't Cry over Spilled Lemonade pt.2

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x f!reader

Word Count: ~2k

Warnings: A little bit of dread on the reader's part but mostly it's fluff and yearning, just the way I like it.

A/N: hahaha I finally finished it!!!! Thanks for all the love on part one it really made me so happy to see so many people liking the little story that I wrote half asleep <3

Anthony wrestled with his thoughts for the rest of the evening. He hated himself deeply for hurting you and even more for not remembering it. Knowing himself though, he knew that his actions were probably fueled by a desire to leave the gathering and visit Siena, she had been his refuge in the years before and during Daphne’s debut. 

He would never forgive himself if the reason you would not ever stand to be in the same room with him was his naive infatuation with the opera singer. Especially given the fact that as soon as he met you all thoughts of her flew from his eyes and he never thought of her in that way again. Deep down he knew that his heart now belonged to you although that thought was much too terrifying to dwell on for more than a minute.

You on the other hand were reeling with the new information. You had vowed to hate Anthony Bridgerton until your dying day but his pleas for forgiveness had shaken your will. You still held a deep anger towards him, one that you didn’t think would go away any time soon. But it was becoming harder and harder for you to find the detestation in yours that had once been bubbling at the surface.

You didn't know what to expect from the Viscount anymore, you had always had a pretty clear picture of the man in your mind, and in one fell swoop he had shattered it like glass. Seeing him playing with his younger siblings in the park the day after your conversation in the hallway certainly didn’t help settle your mind.

If there was one thing you knew about Anthony Bridgerton it was that he loved his family. Sometimes he goes about it in the wrong way but you could tell that he does everything he does for them, even getting grass stains on his trousers because Hyancithy and Gregory are insistent that he plays tag with them in the great park.

It is their laughter that draws your attention first followed shortly by a sharp shout and even more giggles. You are fortunate enough to catch sight of the Viscount tripping and landing on his backside, his hands falling to the side of him and right into what looks to be some freshly planted flower beds. His head hangs and he takes a heaving sigh before pushing himself back up. You can’t help but laugh at the sight.

Anthony would be able to recognize your laugh anywhere, he hears it flowing through the halls of his home enough that it’s become ingrained in his mind. His head turns to where you are and your eyes meet. He is taken aback by the warmth he finds in them. How long has it been since you’ve looked at home with anything but detached coldness?

It is Hyancinth who bridged the gap between the two of you, with a shout of your name she comes bounding across the green and practically leaps into your open arms. 

“Hello sweet girl, having fun are we?” Your hand runs down the back of her head and you smile down at her.

“We were playing a game of tag, would you like to join us.” Sometimes you forget how innocent the young girl is. Her smile is contagious as it spreads across your own face.

“On any other day my darling but I’ve only cut through the park on my way to visit with Lady Danbury and you know how she is about punctuality.”

“Oh.” Her face falls and your heart follows.

“How about this? Once I am done calling upon her ladyship I shall stop by and you can finally show me the new dresses you got for dolly Molly okay?”

Her smile returns full force and she squeezes you a little tighter before conjuring up a mask of faux indifference.

“I suppose I can accept that.” 

“You’re starting to sound like Viscount grumpypants over there.” You tickle at her side.

“I heard that,” Anthony calls from a ways away, Greg held under his arm.

“I was not trying to keep quiet my Lord.” Your eyes meet his once again and Anthony cannot help the little bubbling of hope that builds inside his chest when he sees the lightheartedness contained in your gaze.

“That’s Lord Grumpypants to you.” He shoots back and delights in the way your smile widens. 

“Very well Lord Grumpypants, I must be off but I’ll see you all later.” You say the last words down at the young lady still wrapped up in your arms. You give her one final squeeze before releasing her and bowing your head slightly at her older brother. You try not to dwell too much on how much you enjoy the viscount’s smile.

Anthony takes the day in the park as a sign, one that shows him all hope is not lost. All he needs to do is fix his mistake. He craved you, that much he knew. He craved your smile and your laugh, he yearned for your kind eyes and the way you seemed to float when you walked. He has never considered himself a particularly creative man but the images his mind conjures of the two of you make him second-guess himself.

He did not have time to imagine for very long, however, as Colin was due to return today for the start of the season and Eloise seemed to need constant supervision lest she run away the first chance she got. The Danbury ball could not come soon enough.

The Danbury ball was one of legend, the older woman’s opening ball was not one to be missed as it set the tone for the rest of the season. Young women not lucky enough to gain the Queen’s favor had a second chance at the Danbury ball, a chance to show themselves off to the ton once more in the hopes of catching the eye of an eligible young man. 

You were no different than those young ladies, primping and preening all day long with the hopes that you would be able to secure a match this season before you become too old to do so. Your mother was adamant that this season had to be spectacular, you had to look and act your best always. She was weary and weeping, moaning about how you’d be letting down the family if you were unable to secure a match.

It was interesting you thought, how quickly she changed her tune. During your debut season, she had spoken dreamingly about a love match and finding happiness and now you were sure that she would shove you off to whoever if it meant that you would be married. It seemed your Mama’s greatest fear was you becoming a spinster. 

You obliged her whims, after all, you did wish to find a match. You had always dreamed of a love match. With every year that passed by the candle of hope held within your heart flickered, it was small now, but you had to admit that it still burned. You still soothed your restless nights with dreams of a husband and children, a loving home full of laughter and joy. That is the future you want, that is the future you will fight for.

Tonight you aim to make an entrance, any attention at this point is better than being snubbed. You wore a gown of deep red, with golden lace around the bodice and black and gold beading around the waistline and down the back. Your maid pulled and twisted your hair, piling it upon your head and creating a bold and dramatic look. You were going to pull attention, you had to.

And pull attention you did, from the moment you entered the ballroom all eyes were on you. Ladies whispered and hid behind their fans. Men stood in circles with their peers but you caught the glance of more than one bachelor. And yet, nobody had approached you. You were beginning to feel the flash in your cheeks. Perhaps this was too much, such boldness was offputting and you should have stuck to the known. Dressed in soft pinks and whites, proclaiming purity and softness. 

Anthony was beside himself. You were the most ethereal creature he had ever had the privilege of laying his gaze on and he wished to spend the whole night by your side; catching up on all the lost time. He knew though, that you would never allow that, and he would rather die than hurt you again. 

So he watched and watched and watched. As time ticked on those cowards kept you waiting. Dances began and ended, people arrived and left and all the while you were stood, bathed in candlelight and alone. 

The sun had long since set and you were done. No longer would you endure this embarrassment. You had followed your gut and put yourself out there and it had failed. You were destined to be alone you suppose.

Just as you were getting ready to turn away and retreat back to the safety of your family home a hand entered your sight. Palm up and inviting, your eyes traced slowly up the arm and towards the face of the gentleman who had finally put you out of your misery.

Anthony Bridgerton stood before you, arm outstretched and a small smile on his face. “A lady as beautiful as yourself does not deserve to spend the whole night without a single dance.” 

“Are you offering?” You looked him in the eye and raised a brow. This was the first time since your conversation in the hallways that Anthony had approached you without one of his siblings present to be a buffer.

“I’m giving you an opportunity.”

“And what might that be?” You tilted your head to the side and watched as a smirk slowly spread across his face.

“You have a choice, right here and right now. Either grasp my hand and we dance the rest of the night away, opinions be damned. Or you snub me, snub me like I snubbed you that night, and get your revenge.”

You exhale a laugh and look at him. His face held a smile but also a certain seriousness that belayed his intention. This was him making it up to you. He would accept rejection if that is what you wanted. 

Here he was, the man who had hurt you and who you still held a flame for offering himself up to like a lamb to slaughter. 

You must’ve been taking a long time to answer because the Viscount began shifting on his feet. He looked around the room at the other couples who began to take to the dancefloor.

“I do not mean to rush you my lady, but the dance will be starting soon.”

“Anthony you must promise me.”

“Anything, name it and it’s yours.” 

“Promise me that you will never hurt me again, I don’t think my heart could take it.” You took his hand. And let your lips curve into a gentle smile.

He pulled your hand wrapped within his own close to his heart, and vowed, “I will do everything in my power to protect you for the rest of my days, even if the one I am protecting you from is myself.”

“I don’t need protection Anthony,” you looked deeply into his eyes, “I just need your love, honest and true.”

“Then you shall have it.” 

Anthony pulled you to the dancefloor and led you in far too many dances to be appropriate that night. And every night for the rest of the season. And neither of you cared about what the rest of the ton had to say. You had each other, finally, and neither of you was letting go anytime soon. 

taglist: @ilikestuffs-stuff @cat-lockwood @wolf-phoenix-lover

@tenshis-cake @bridkesby @divergentalwaysandforever-blog @lillysfrogsandbogs @unholyhuntress

[jetii]

Roy. My love. Bestie.

I saw a tag that there was Obi Wan smut in Event Horizon but you deleted it cause it wasn’t relevant to the plot

…*deep inhale*

Can we get

Perhaps

If you’re willing

Maybe

Please?

A deleted scenes bit? 👀👀

Ahh okay so I was hesitant to post this bc I didn't want to give the wrong impression about their relationship and my planned end game. I went back and edited a few things, clarified some other things a few days ago. Decided to post this now as a treat since neither Obi-Wan or Rex appear in this week's chapter. 💙

Even though I ultimately decided to leave this chapter out, it is "canon" and takes place between chapters five and six.

Event Horizon

Interlude: Remember to Lock the Door

Words: 6,189

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! angst, friends with benefits, Force bonds, smut, masturbation, rough sex, cum play, inappropriate use of the Force?, i would not call this a healthy relationship

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Join the Taglist | Masterlist

It's been months since the fight, and you and Obi-Wan have never been closer. The bond between you has strengthened, and the trust has returned, the years of resentment and pain fading away day by day.

The two of you have worked through the issues that led to the rift between you and have rebuilt the relationship into something new, something deeper and stronger than it was before. You've been meditating more, trying to find balance, and while it's not easy, you're slowly learning to control the tumultuous emotions that have plagued you.

And, perhaps most importantly, the two of you have finally made amends.

As the months go by, you spend more and more time together, and it feels like no time has passed at all. You spar, and talk, and laugh, and it's almost as if the last few years never happened. On the battlefield, you move as one, the bond between you allowing you to anticipate and react to each other's movements without a second thought.

There's still a part of you that resents the Council for not believing you, for your fellow Jedi for turning their backs on you, but Obi-Wan has been there for you, helping you to process the emotions and come to terms with the pain and loss. And while it's not easy, you're working on it, one day at a time.

You still have nightmares, and the anger is never far from the surface, but you're learning to deal with them and channel the negative emotions into something productive. It's what you're attempting to do now as you sit in your quarters, your eyes closed and your mind focused on the Force.

You can feel the darkness within you, the rage and the hatred, and you're trying to find a way to balance them with the light, to bring the two into harmony. You've been at it for hours, and while the progress is slow, you can feel yourself getting closer. It's exhausting work, and you're starting to flag, but you press on, determined to make some progress.

Just as you're about to give up, there's a knock at your door. You groan, annoyed, but rise to your feet and make your way to the entrance. As soon as you draw nearer, you feel a rush of familiar energy, and a smile spreads across your face.

You open the door, and Obi-Wan's blue eyes sparkle with mischief, a hint of a smirk playing at his lips.

"You didn't tell me you were back," you say by way of greeting, your tone light.

Obi-Wan shrugs, the movement exaggerated, and his voice is dripping with sarcasm when he dips his head toward you.

"Well, I wanted to surprise you," he teases. "Since you've been so busy with...what, exactly?"

He gestures at the room behind you, and you blush, realizing how much of a mess it is. There are sheets of flimsi and holopads strewn about, and your cloak is crumpled in the corner, your boots lying haphazardly by the door. You look up at him, and the laughter bubbles inside you, the frustration and exhaustion melting away.

"Oh, stop it," you say, and Obi-Wan chuckles. "You know I've been working."

"Yes, I can see that," he replies. "Working yourself to death, apparently."

You roll your eyes, but the smile stays on your lips. You're glad he's here, glad he's teasing you, and it's a welcome distraction from the heaviness that's been weighing on you.

"Something like that," you admit. "How was Christophsis?"

"You'll be pleased to know we won," Obi-Wan says dryly. He casts a look down either side of the long hallway, then, finding no one, he leans against the doorway and crosses his arms. The pose is casual, relaxed, and he gives you a crooked grin. "But I didn't come here to discuss strategy."

"Ah." You smirk, mirroring his pose, and raise an eyebrow. "What, then, brought you to my door at such a late hour, Master Kenobi?"

He huffs a laugh. "I think you already know the answer to that."

"Perhaps. But I think I'd like to hear you say it," you tease, a playful glint in your eye.

"Very well." 

He sighs, feigning exasperation, but the corners of his mouth turn up into a smile. Obi-Wan steps forward, close enough to reach out and tuck your hair behind your ear. His hand lingers on the side of your face, and he lets the back of his fingers trace a gentle path down your neck. 

"I missed you, and I wanted to see you,” he murmurs.

"That's sweet," you murmur. Your gaze flickers up to meet his, and you take hold of the front of his tunic, tugging him through the door. "Now get in here. We can't have your fellow Council members seeing you visiting me at this hour. They'll start to think I'm corrupting their precious poster boy."

Obi-Wan snorts, his eyes rolling, but he follows you inside without protest, the door sliding shut behind him. He engages the lock, just in case, and turns back to you, finding you standing a few feet away wearing a coy smile.

"I did miss you, you know," Obi-Wan admits, walking towards you. He slides his robes off his shoulders, letting them fall to the floor in a puddle. "Very much, actually. We could've used your expertise. There were times when Anakin's tactics were..." He waves a hand, searching for the right word. "Unconventional, at best."

"So, the usual, then?"

"The usual," he confirms.

His eyes trail over your form, and his expression softens. You know the circles under your eyes must be dark, the fatigue etched into the lines of your face. He reaches out, running his fingers down your arm.

"You've been overworking yourself again, haven't you?" he asks, his voice gentle.

"I suppose," you shrug. "But I've made some progress. I think I'm getting better."

Obi-Wan nods, and the concern in his eyes is touching. "I'm glad to hear that."

You nod, and his fingers trace back up your arm, over your shoulder, and to your face, tilting your chin up. He searches your eyes, his gaze lingering on the shadows beneath.

"Are you sleeping?"

You shrug again, not meeting his eyes. "Sometimes. Not as much as I should."

"And eating?"

"Obi-Wan," you say, rolling your eyes. "I'm fine. I promise."

He frowns, but doesn't push the issue. Instead, he leans in and presses a kiss to your forehead.

"If you say so," he says, pulling back. He glances around the room, taking in the chaos, and shakes his head. "Do you think you could possibly clear some space? If I recall, there are a few chairs in here somewhere, though I'll admit it's hard to tell."

"Hilarious," you deadpan. You step forward and wrap your arms around his neck, pressing yourself against him. "But I have a better idea."

Obi-Wan smiles, and his arms tighten around your waist, pulling you closer.

"I'm listening," he says.

"Well, since I haven't seen you in weeks," you say, trailing a hand down his chest. "I think we should skip the pleasantries and just go straight to the good stuff."

"That sounds like a plan," Obi-Wan murmurs. His lips are only a hair's breadth from yours, his breath warm on your skin. "And just what might that entail, exactly?"

"Oh, you know." Your hand travels lower, sliding down his abdomen. "I was thinking a bit of this." You grab the hem of his tunic, tugging it upward. "A bit of that."

"I'm listening," he repeats, a playful smile tugging at his lips.

You slide his tunic over his head, exposing his muscled torso. Your fingers roam across his smooth skin, and his breath hitches, his eyes closing. He leans into your touch, and his lips ghost along your neck, sending shivers down your spine.

"I'm going to need a little more information," Obi-Wan murmurs against the shell of your ear.

You tilt your head, offering him better access. Your hands move down his stomach, slipping into the waistband of his trousers. You grin when he sucks in a breath, and your fingers brush his growing arousal, eliciting a soft groan.

"Is that what you had in mind?" you whisper, your voice husky.

"Not quite." Obi-Wan's eyes crack open, and they're hooded with desire. He presses a kiss to the spot behind your ear, his lips trailing down the side of your neck. "Keep going."

You chuckle, and your grip on him tightens, eliciting another gasp. You run your thumb over the tip of his length, and he shudders, his hips bucking.

"More," he says, his voice strained.

"You want me to keep talking?"

"No, no," he groans, his teeth grazing your pulse point. "I want you to show me."

You pull your hands out of his pants, and he sighs at the loss. You turn your back to him and move toward the bed, pulling your own shirt over your head. Your breasts are bared to the cool air, and the sound of his sharp intake of breath makes you smirk.

You look over your shoulder, and his eyes are dark with desire, his gaze roaming over your exposed skin.

"What, no quips this time?" you ask, feigning innocence.

"I'm afraid not," Obi-Wan murmurs.  "I think I'll leave the talking to you."

You chuckle, and begin unbuttoning your trousers, swaying your hips a bit more than necessary. You kick the fabric off and then turn around, your fingers trailing over the curve of your breast. Obi-Wan's eyes follow the movement, his pupils dilated, and his tongue darts out, wetting his lips.

“Are you going to join me, or are you just going to stand there and watch?"

Obi-Wan takes a moment to drink in the sight of you, his gaze roaming over every inch of exposed skin.

“I rather like the view from here, actually."

You scoff and turn away, feigning annoyance. As soon as you're sure he can't see, you let a mischievous grin spread across your lips. You slide your hands over your stomach, dipping into the waistband of your underwear, and slide them down your thighs. You glance over your shoulder, and his gaze is fixed on your exposed skin, his cheeks flushed, and his mouth slightly agape.

"Then enjoy it,” you tease, bending over and sliding your underwear off.

He groans, and the sound sends a shiver of anticipation through you. You lie back on the bed, propping yourself up on your elbows, and spread your legs. Without breaking eye contact, you let your fingers wander down, slipping between the slick folds.

You moan as your finger circles your clit, the pleasure coiling inside you. Obi-Wan swallows, his gaze fixed on your hand, and he starts to undo his pants. You can't help the smug grin that spreads across your lips, and you pick up the pace, your breath coming in short gasps.

"This is what you want to see, isn't it?" you ask, arching your back and pushing two fingers inside yourself.

Obi-Wan is struggling to undress, his fingers fumbling with the buttons of his trousers. His gaze darts between you and the task at hand, and you can see the frustration building, his patience wearing thin.

"Stop that," he growls.

"Why? Am I distracting you?"

"Yes."

He finally manages to free himself, and his erection springs free, hard and flushed with blood. He steps forward, kicking his boots off, and moves towards the bed. You bite back a moan, the sight of him, bare and ready, making your heart race.

Obi-Wan crawls onto the bed, his eyes locked with yours. You feel the anticipation building, the pressure coiling low in your stomach, and you can’t help but grind your hips down, trying to relieve the ache.

His hand wraps around your wrist, pulling your fingers out, and the whimper that escapes you makes him grin. He pins your arm to the bed, his other hand gripping your thigh.

"I thought I told you to stop that," he murmurs.

"You did." You smirk, your free hand tracing up his stomach. "I didn't listen."

Obi-Wan huffs, and his grip on your thigh tightens, his fingers digging into the soft flesh. He moves between your legs, and his erection brushes against your entrance, the head teasing you. You let out a soft moan, and your hips rock forward, desperate for more.

He chuckles, and he moves closer, his lips ghosting over yours. He doesn’t kiss you though, a boundary the two of you agreed on years ago. One of the few things the two of you didn't share, even back then.

"You're insufferable," he breathes, the words a whisper against your skin.

"And yet, you're here," you murmur.

He groans, and his eyes flutter closed, his nose brushing against yours.

"Corruption, indeed."

You laugh, and the sound seems to break the last of his restraint. He thrusts inside you in one smooth stroke, burying himself to the hilt. The sudden intrusion, the sudden stretch, makes you gasp, and the pleasure washes over you, the heat of his body sending sparks flying.

"Fuck, Obi-Wan," you pant, your eyes squeezing shut.

"What was that?" He pauses, waiting for you to open your eyes. "I'm sorry, did you have something to say?"

"No," you say, shaking your head.

"Are you sure?" he teases, and his lips brush the corner of your mouth.

"Just fuck me, please," you whine, trying to roll your hips, desperate for more. He doesn't let you, though, his grip on your leg keeping you in place.

He chuckles, and pulls back, just enough for the tip to catch on the edge of your entrance. The anticipation is driving you crazy, the aching emptiness making you groan. You open your eyes, and his gaze locks with yours, his expression playful, and teasing.

"Obi-Wan, please.”

He doesn't respond, his gaze still fixed on yours, and you're about to beg him again when he finally thrusts forward, filling you completely in one swift motion. The force of his movement rocks the bed, the metal frame squeaking in protest, and your body arches, the pleasure overwhelming.

"Like that?" he asks, a self-satisfied smirk spreading across his lips despite the innocence of his tone.

"Don't be smug," you breathe.

"Me? Never."

You scoff, and the sound dissolves into a groan as he rolls his hips, the angle sending stars across your vision.

Obi-Wan begins moving in earnest, setting a slow, familiar pace. His hands move to your waist, holding you steady, and his grip is strong, his fingers digging into the soft skin of your hips. He moves inside you, his movements languid and deliberate, each thrust drawing out a soft gasp.

The pleasure builds, slowly, and steadily, and the heat in the room rises, the sweat starting to bead on your skin. You can feel your bond with him, the connection between you humming and singing, the emotions and sensations flowing between the two of you in an endless loop.

It's a connection you've both been wary of, one that can be dangerous if allowed to spiral, but one you can't help but give into, to revel in.

The tangled threads of emotion are difficult to separate, the love and the lust, the friendship and the desire, the anger and the pain, all of it swirling together, creating a heady mix of sensations. You can feel Obi-Wan's arousal, and his affection, his concern and his desire, and it only fuels your own, the emotions spurring each other on. 

You're both drowning in the intensity of the feedback loop, the connection amplifying everything, and you can't bring yourself to care, to even try and stop.

His thoughts and feelings are intertwined with yours, and you're not sure where one ends and the other begins. The lines are blurred beyond recognition, the barriers between you stripped away. It's all too easy to lose yourself in it, to allow yourself to seek out the lightness of his heart and make yourself at home.

You're drawn to it like a moth to a flame, and you let yourself go. You let yourself consume the happiness and the joy that he feels, the comfort and the pleasure, and you allow it to fill the aching void in your chest. The darkness is pushed back, the shadows chased away, and the light that fills the hollow places inside you is warm and sweet.

It's the happiest you've been in months.

"What are you doing?" Obi-Wan pants, his voice a hoarse whisper.

"I don't know," you breathe, your fingers digging into his shoulders. "Just, please, keep going."

He nods, and he thrusts deeper, the pleasure rippling through the two of you. The sensation is intoxicating, and you find yourself clinging to it, the euphoria making your head spin. You can't help but reach out and search for more, the need to drown the pain and the grief, to silence the voices, driving you to chase the feeling.

It's dangerous, you know. It’s more than you’ve ever allowed yourself to take, but you're so lost in the sensation that you can't bring yourself to care. It's too much, too good, and you're desperate to hold on, to cling to the feeling of safety and peace that flows through the two of you.

You want to drown in the light, the hope and the warmth, and never resurface.

And so, you continue to take, and take, and take, until, with a sudden jolt, it's over.

The sudden absence of his energy, the cold shock of the emptiness, makes you gasp, and your eyes snap open. You’re met with Obi-Wan's concerned gaze, his eyes wide and frantic, and it takes you a moment to realize what's happened.

"Sorry," he breathes, his brow furrowed. His eyes search your face, and he swallows. "That was...intense."

You swallow, the guilt gnawing at your gut, and you nod, trying to calm your racing heart.

"Yeah," you murmur, your voice raspy as the shame threatens to make your throat close up. "Obi-Wan--"

"Shh, it's okay," he murmurs, his hand coming up to cup the side of your face. His thumb traces along the line of your jaw, and his touch is gentle, comforting. He leans down and presses his forehead against yours, his hair tickling your face. "It's okay."

You watch his eyes squeeze shut, his brows drawing together. He's trying to regain control, to rein in the emotions and the sensations that have gotten the better of him. Obi-Wan takes a deep breath, and his grip on your waist tightens.

The bond between the two of you has always been there, ever since the moment you'd met, and over the years it's only grown stronger. It was inevitable, really, with the amount of time the two of you spent together.

It's a natural, unconscious, and unavoidable process, and the fact that you can sense each other's emotions is not something the two of you can change. It's just part of who you both are, and while it's not a burden, not in any way, it is something that requires a delicate balance.

One that is easily lost.

And this, this is exactly why the Jedi forbid such attachments. Why the rules were created, why the lines were drawn, and why the two of you, no matter how much you care about each other, can never be more than this. The bond between the two of you is a double-edged sword, the connection amplifying both the good and the bad. It can bring the two of you together, closer than any two people could possibly be, or it can tear you completely asunder. 

And you know, just as you've always known, that if such a thing would ever come to pass, it would be your fault.

Obi-Wan's grip on your waist loosens, and the tension drains out of him, the momentary lapse forgotten. His eyes open, and he searches yours, his expression soft. He smiles, the warmth of it spreading through you, soothing the anxiety.

"Still with me?" he asks, his voice gentle.

"Yes," you breathe.

His gaze drops, and his eyes lock on the place where your bodies are joined. He lets out a quiet noise at the sight of your arousal coating the base of his cock, the wetness dripping down his length. His softening erection hardens again, and his hips twitch, the need to move returning.

You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him down, pressing your chest against his. You bury your face in the crook of his neck, inhaling the familiar scent of him as his body shields yours from the outside world.

You're enveloped in his warmth, and you revel in the closeness, the intimacy. The pleasure sparks to life with each shift of his hips, and the two of you begin to move, slowly at first, then with more urgency, the rhythm picking up speed until the pace is frantic.

Your lips find his neck, and you begin to trail kisses up his jaw, the stubble rough against your lips. You nip at the sensitive spot just below his ear, and the moan that escapes him sends a shiver down your spine. His arms wrap around your waist, and he pulls you impossibly closer, his hips thrusting erratically. The pleasure builds, and the pressure in your abdomen grows, the release just out of reach.

Obi-Wan's grip on you tightens, and he buries his face in your neck, his lips tracing a path along your shoulder. His teeth graze your collarbone, and you can't help but tilt your head, exposing the sensitive skin to his wandering mouth. He takes the invitation, and his lips close over the soft flesh, his teeth biting down gently.

Your mind goes blank as the pressure inside you suddenly snaps, the pleasure flooding through you, washing over you in a wave. Your entire body tenses, and a low, keening moan escapes you, the sound echoing in the room. Your back arches, and you can't help the way your hips buck, grinding down against him, seeking out every last drop of the overwhelming sensations.

Obi-Wan lets out a groan at the feeling of your walls fluttering, and he rears back, his head snapping up, his eyes wild. He searches your face, his gaze darting across your features, as if trying to memorize every detail.

"I—" He swallows, his expression almost reverent, as if he can't quite believe what he's seeing. "I need—"

He cuts himself off, and his words are lost, his voice trailing off. You watch, transfixed, as he tries to get his breathing under control, his chest heaving with the effort. His eyes drift back to the spot where the two of you are joined, and he watches as his length disappears inside you, his breath hitching at the sight.

He's always loved this, watching the two of you come together, and he's not ashamed to admit it. Obi-Wan's not shy about what he wants, and he's never had a problem asking, not when it comes to this. He likes to watch, and he's never hesitated to tell you so, and as always, the words are on the tip of his tongue.

But he's distracted, and his gaze is unfocused, and hazy. He's lost in the sensation, and you can't help but marvel at the way his eyes widen as if the sight of the two of you together is somehow brand new, as if he's never seen anything like it.

"Obi-Wan," you whine, trying to get his attention.

"What?" he mumbles, his eyes glued to the spot where your bodies meet.

"Obi-Wan."

"Hmm?" He blinks, his gaze flickering up to yours. He looks like he's trying to remember how to speak, his lips parted, and his eyes unfocused. "Yes?"

"What do you want?"

His swallows hard, and his hips stutter. His expression turns pained, and he squeezes his eyes shut, his hands gripping the sheets so tightly his knuckles turn white.

He shakes his head, his breath coming in short gasps. "I can't—"

"Obi-Wan."

"Please," he moans, his voice a strangled whisper, and his hips slam into yours, the force of his movement making you cry out. "I can't."

You wrap your legs around his waist, your ankles locking behind him, and he whimpers at the sudden tightness, the increased pressure. His arms are trembling, and you can feel the tension in his muscles, the strain of holding back.

"Then don't," you murmur.

You can see the conflict on his face, and his jaw clenches, his lips pressed into a thin line. His eyes flutter closed, and he lets out a soft groan, his head dropping forward, his forehead coming to rest on yours.

"But—"

"Obi-Wan, please."

You reach up, and your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer. He leans into your touch, and the contact seems to break the last of his resolve, his restraint shattering. He's still for a moment, as if the weight of what he's about to do is sinking in.

Then, his hips move faster, the slow, languid thrusts quickly giving way to something more primal, and frantic. You can feel the pleasure building inside him, and his thoughts, and emotions, bleed through the connection, his desire spilling over into you.

"I've got you," you murmur, and the words seem to shatter the last of his composure, the final pieces of his carefully crafted control slipping away.

He groans, the sound raw and desperate, and his hips slam into yours. You can feel the pleasure building, the tension growing, and his thrusts grow more erratic, the pace becoming frantic.

He's consumed by the feeling, and he's unable, or unwilling, to hide the way his mind is spiraling. The bond between the two of you is wide open, and his mind is an ocean, his emotions swelling and breaking against the shore. The waves of arousal and lust are overwhelming, and they're crashing over you, threatening to pull you under.

The intensity of it all is too much, and you have to turn away, squeezing your eyes shut. You can't look at him, can't bear the sight of him. He's laid bare before you, completely and utterly vulnerable, and you can't handle it. You're drowning in it, and it's all you can do to cling to him, to keep your head above water as Obi-Wan loses himself.

His hands find your thighs, and he holds them, lifting you up, and positioning you how he wants. The movement pushes him deeper, and the angle makes him hit that sweet spot, and you gasp, your eyes flying open.

"Please, I—"

"Not yet," he groans, his voice raw. "Wait, not yet."

"I—oh fuck, please," you gasp.

He doesn't respond, his body acting on instinct. His mind is a haze, and the need to be as close to you as possible, to give you everything, consumes him.

He wants to lose himself, and he's begging you to let him, and there's no way you can deny him. Tears spring to your eyes, and you can't stop the sob that escapes you.

And he doesn't care, doesn't even notice. He's blind to it, his senses too full of his own pleasure, his own need, to feel anything else. He doesn't even hear the words, the soft pleas, the whispered prayers that tumble from your lips. All he knows is that you're there, that you're with him, and he's holding you, touching you, inside you, and he wants, he needs, so badly.

And he takes.

He takes and takes, and you let him. You let him use you, and you bask in the sensation, in the knowledge that, at least for a few moments, you can be there for him.

You can be the light, and he can be the shadow.

And for those few moments, it's enough.

With a choked gasp, Obi-Wan pulls out, and you're left empty and wanting, biting your lip to stop from screaming at the loss. Through half-lidded eyes, you see him reach down, his fist closing around his erection, pumping it roughly, and then he's coming, his release coating your stomach, his cock pulsing as the pleasure floods through him. He moans through it, the sound muffled by the arm he throws across his mouth, and his face is twisted with pleasure, his brows drawn together.

The feeling of his pleasure crashes into you through the bond, and the sight of him losing himself, the look on his face and the sounds he makes, is enough to send you over the edge. You feel your walls flutter and clench around nothing, the emptiness only heightening the pleasure. Your body trembles, and your hands grasp at the sheets, searching for something, anything, to hold on to.

Obi-Wan watches in awe as your orgasm ripples through you, his eyes wide and his mouth agape as his arm falls away. You can feel his shock and wonder through the bond, his amazement at the sight of you coming untouched, and his hand doesn't stop until the last drop has spilled onto your stomach.

You're left breathless and boneless, your body trembling with the aftershocks, and you can't help the smile that spreads across your lips. The pleasure, the satisfaction, and the joy is radiating from him, and it's contagious. It's hard not to laugh, and harder still not to cry, and you're not sure what you'd do if not for the fact that you're both so utterly, completely spent.

Obi-Wan looks down at the mess, and chuckles, a hint of embarrassment in his voice. "That was..." he trails off, his brain unable to come up with a coherent thought.

You nod, and let out a weak laugh, the sound more like a sigh. "I know."

"And I didn't even—"

"I know.”

Obi-Wan chuckles, and the sound is warm and light, his happiness spreading through the room. He runs a hand through his sweat-soaked hair, his eyes sparkling, and there's a shy grin plastered on his face.

"My apologies," he says, his tone sheepish. "I don't know what came over me."

"That makes one of us," you tease.

He snorts, his cheeks heating, and he falls to the side, rolling over on his back next to you. The two of you sit in silence for a few moments, trying to catch your breath, your shoulders brushing with each exhale.

You grin and nudge his arm. "Welcome back, by the way."

"I'm glad to be back," he replies, rolling onto his side to face you. He traces a lazy pattern across your skin, smirking when the muscles in your stomach flinch. "Though if this is the welcome I get, maybe I should stay away more often."

"Don't you dare," you warn, laughing.

Obi-Wan grins, and the look in his eyes is soft, the affection bleeding through the bond as his fingers trace along the curve of your hip. He watches you, his gaze lingering on your face, and there's a look in his eyes, a vulnerability that he rarely allows himself to show.

You feel a sudden wave of emotion, a mixture of love and regret, and the force of it steals your breath.

He shouldn't be looking at you like that, like you're his entire world, because you're not. You're his best friend, his confidant, his equal, but you're not his lover. And you're certainly not his soulmate, or his other half, or whatever the hell it is people call the person they're meant to be with.

He shouldn't be looking at you, and it makes the guilt gnaw at your gut, a reminder of what the two of you are doing, and what the two of you have done, over and over again. Because, as good as it feels, as much as it eases the pain, you can't pretend that it's not a mistake.

The Jedi are forbidden to love, and for good reason. Love is dangerous, and complicated, and it's the kind of attachment that leads to the Dark Side. The Council knows this, and the rules are in place to protect everyone, to keep the Order strong and united.

It's for the best, and it's necessary, and yet here the two of you are, breaking those rules. And for what? For some fleeting moments of pleasure, and a bit of fun? For some meaningless, empty physical connection, something that will never lead anywhere, and that can never last?

It's not worth it, not really. You both know that, and yet you continue to seek each other out, continuing to risk everything for the sake of a few hours of bliss. To pretend that everything is as it used to be, and that the war, and the fighting, and the dying are still a thousand worlds away.

It's foolish, and selfish, and reckless, but it's not something either of you can seem to stop. Obi-Wan has always done well at following the rules and obeying the Code, but he's also never been the most truly obedient of the Jedi. He's never been able to completely give up his attachments, and you know that his love for you is not the only one he carries. It's something the two of you share, the inability to let go of those you care about, and it's a weakness.

A weakness that, if not handled with care, could be his downfall. One that you can't help but feed into and encourage at every turn, even if it means destroying him. One that, despite your best efforts, you have come to rely on, to seek out, and to cling to.

It's a problem, and one that neither of you are able, or willing, to solve.

And so, the two of you remain in your little bubble of bliss, pretending that the universe isn't burning.

"Let's clean up and then come back to bed," you say, interrupting the silence. "There are some things I'd like to discuss with you, and I'd rather not be covered in fluids when I do so."

"Agreed."

Obi-Wan looks around, and a moment later a box of tissues flies from across the room into his hand. He helps you wipe off, and then you stand on shaky legs. You head to the fresher and clean yourself off properly, and by the time you return, he's already in bed, the blankets pulled up around his waist.

You slide in next to him, and the bed dips as he shifts closer, the warmth of his body seeping into yours. The two of you prop yourselves up on your elbows, and the position is familiar, the two of you having spent many nights discussing strategy and planning.

"What did you want to talk about?" he asks, his voice gentle.

You hesitate. You could tell him about the nightmares. You could tell him about how the fear of losing him, of losing everything, is weighing heavy on your heart. You could tell him about how you can't sleep, can't focus, because all you can think about is how everything is falling apart, how the darkness is winning, how there's nothing you can do to stop it.

You could tell him, and he would listen. He would hold you, and he would comfort you, and he would offer his own advice. He would tell you that it's okay, and that everything will be fine, and that the nightmares are not real, and that he is not going anywhere. He would tell you that the darkness cannot win, and that the Republic will prevail, and that everything will work out.

He would tell you what you want to hear, and he would do it because he loves you, and because he wants to believe it, too.

But you don't. You can't bring yourself to, not yet. Not while he's looking at you like that, his gaze full of warmth and fondness and trust. Not when things are finally starting to get better, not when the two of you are finally getting somewhere. 

Obi-Wan has enough to deal with as it is without the weight of your own anxieties, and so you push aside your doubts and fears, and you decide, for once, to follow his example and to put on a brave face.

"Everything," you reply. "Tell me about Christophsis. Tell me what happened. I want to hear everything."

Obi-Wan takes a deep breath, and you know that the stories he's about to tell you are going to be anything but pleasant. You also know that, no matter how bad they are, it will be a relief to talk about them.

You'll listen, and you'll offer what comfort you can, and you'll let him vent his frustrations and worries. And then, when it's all over, and the stories have been told, the two of you will curl up and sleep will take you. The nightmares will be held at bay, and the darkness will stay where it belongs, locked away until morning.

"Anakin's plan was insane," he begins, and you smile.

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[footylover]

It’s a beautiful thing to meet someone who makes you forget your troubles.

(Leah Williamson x Reader)

As Leah Williamson was making her debut on the new EA Sports FC 24 cover, you were preparing to interview her with some fan questions in hand.

Before taking your seat you take advantage to approach Leah off camera to say hi. Leah smiles back at you.

“I’m Y/N, nice to meet you. Don’t worry, these questions are supposed to be fun” You informed her to calm her nerves.

“Good to know, I’m honestly not having the best day” She responds.

Before you could ask any further, the director was asking for both of you to take your seat. "Alright, let's get started," you said with a gentle smile, noticing the hint of sadness in Leah's eyes. It was not a good day for her, she'd said, but you intended to make the interview as light and enjoyable as possible.

The questions started simple, revolving around her favorite FIFA games, memories growing up, and some of the memorable moments in her career. She perked up talking about her love for the game and her experiences. Still, you could tell something was bothering her.

Halfway through the interview, you decided to throw in a lighter question to change the mood. "Pineapple on pizza - yes or no?"

Leah laughed, her eyes lighting up for the first time that day. "Absolutely no!" she replied, sparking a playful debate between the two of you. For a few moments, her worries seemed to have been forgotten. You found her laugh infectious, and it was a relief to see her relax.

But as the interview was drawing to a close, you saw her mood dip once again. You'd had a good time with her, and it was clear that she was carrying something heavy. As a fellow human being, you couldn't help but feel for her.

"Leah, if you don't mind me asking," you began carefully, "is there something bothering you? You mentioned you weren't having the best day..."

She hesitated, glancing off-camera as if debating whether to answer. After a long pause, she sighed, "It's not public yet. But I got my results for my injury I got last game. I’m not making it to the World Cup."

Your heart clenched at her words, understanding the pain she was going through. "I'm really sorry to hear that, Leah. It's tough, and it's okay to not be okay. Just remember, it's the tough times that make the good ones so much sweeter. You will come back stronger than ever."

Leah nodded, her gaze softening as she met your eyes. "Thank you, Y/N. I needed to hear that today."

After the cameras stopped rolling, you chatted with Leah a bit more, offering words of comfort and strength. You felt a connection that went beyond just interviewer and interviewee. But you thought you would never find out as you just said your good byes and parted ways.

After the interview, you didn't expect to see Leah again, let alone form a deeper connection with her. However, fate seemed to have other plans. During one of Arsenal's matches, you were in the VIP box, courtesy of your job, taking in the game, when you spotted Leah in the neighboring box. She was currently injured, forced to watch her team from the sidelines.

Leah must have noticed you at the same moment because her eyes met yours and held. For a moment, it felt like time stood still, the noise of the crowd fading into nothing. Then, she disappeared from view.

A few minutes later, you felt a tap on your shoulder. Turning around, you were surprised to find Leah standing behind you, a timid smile on her face. "Mind if I join you?" she asked.

For the rest of the game, you both talked, laughed, and cheered for Arsenal together. It felt like a date - the intimacy, the connection, the sparks. However, neither of you acknowledged it.

As you were saying goodbyes again and leaving the box, Leah said, "Wait!! I noticed you wearing a Beth Mead jersey. Are you a fan?"

You nodded enthusiastically, "I'm a huge fan."

With a sly grin, Leah invited you to meet Beth. During the encounter, Leah was unusually quiet, and you noticed a flicker of something in her eyes. It looked a lot like jealousy, but you shrugged it off. You were star-struck, but Beth's laid-back demeanor and welcoming smile soon put you at ease.

"So, Y/N," Beth began, crossing her arms and leaning back against the wall, "How do you know our Leah here?"

You glanced at Leah, who was looking slightly uncomfortable but made no move to intervene. "We met during an interview."

Beth's eyebrows raised, and a playful smirk appeared on her face. "Oh, just an interview, huh? And now you're hanging out in the VIP box, meeting her teammates. Sounds like you're pretty close."

You laughed, feeling your cheeks heat up. "Guess I’m pretty lucky. Leah’s been really kind."

For a moment, you thought you saw Leah blush, but she quickly looked away.

As the conversation moved to the match and general football banter, Leah excused herself to speak to a coach, leaving you alone with Beth.

Once she was out of earshot, Beth turned to you, her expression more serious. "She's a good person, Leah. Just been through a lot lately. I hope she's found a good friend in you, Y/N."

You nodded, assuring Beth that Leah had indeed found a friend in you. However, her words resonated with you, hinting at something more beneath the surface.

When Leah returned, Beth excused herself to have a word with her. You couldn't hear what they were talking about, but you saw Leah's eyes widen, her cheeks flushing, and Beth teasingly poking her in the ribs. Leah swatted Beth's hand away, looking around to make sure you hadn't seen.

You turned away quickly, not wanting them to know you'd noticed. But you couldn't help the small grin that spread across your face. The day had been full of surprises, and the evening promised to bring even more.

With a day like this, it felt like anything was possible. Could there be more than friendship developing between you and Leah? Only time would tell. But for now, you were content with the uncertainty, the anticipation, and the thrill of the unknown.

The bustling noise of the after-match crowd faded as Leah walked you to your car in silence. Your laughter and playful teasing from earlier had been replaced by a charged silence. The air between you two was thick with unspoken words, questions, and emotions.

Leah, always the more courageous one, broke the silence. "Did you mean what you said earlier in the VIP box, about wanting to know the 'Leah off the field'?" Her voice was soft, almost vulnerable, her eyes fixed on the ground.

You paused, glancing at her. "Every word, Leah," you responded sincerely. "You fascinate me, not as Leah the footballer, but Leah the person. You're incredibly strong and kind."

Leah looked up, her gaze meeting yours. For a moment, everything else ceased to exist. It was just the two of you under the dim glow of the streetlights.

A soft sigh escaped Leah's lips as she leaned against the car, her eyes never leaving yours. "I'm not used to this, Y/N," she admitted, her voice barely a whisper. "I guess people usually want the footballer, the celebrity, the...public figure."

You moved closer, your voice steady. "But that's not what I want, Leah. I want to know you, the woman behind all the fame and the accolades, the woman who still gets nervous before interviews."

Something shifted in Leah's expression then, a sense of understanding, perhaps, or relief. She didn't say anything for a moment, her gaze intensifying.

"And you, Y/N," she finally murmured, "What about you? What do you hide behind that professional facade?"

You laughed softly, taken aback by her directness. "That, Leah, is a story for another day."

She smiled, her eyes softening. "I'd like to hear it someday."

After exchanging numbers this time, you drove away. You could still feel Leah's gaze on you, her unspoken words hanging in the air like a promise. There was an undeniable pull between the two of you, something more profound than a fleeting attraction. But what it meant and where it could lead? That was a question for another day.

Authors note: Thank you for reading this far! Part 2?

[looneyleyle]

waves ~ f. odair

synopsis: a look into the healing mind of a tortured champion

warnings: angsty, hunger-games typical trauma, some hurt and comfort, mentioned forced prostitution

words: 1916

first person pov

waves.

that was what the doctors told me to focus on. well, they told me to focus on something calming. something soothing that i could draw upon from my life before the capitol, before the games, before the trauma.

so, i thought of waves. not the big flashy ones far out on the horizon. i thought of the small ones that ripple just barely onto the sand line at night. the ones that would lightly wash over my bare feet during my nightly strolls with finnick.

finnick. another constant from my life, but not before the trauma. we were raised in the same district, but i didn't know him before the games. he would always be out in the water, spearing fish and weaving baskets, whereas i sat in the shop, drying up ocean plants and grinding up chunks of sea salt. i knew of him during his games, of course, but i never met him until i was reaped myself. it was a couple of years after him, five to be exact. my family was one of the poorer ones of the district. our shop didn't bring in much money, as most families collected and made their own herbs and spices from their time in the water. we mainly sold to the older folks who couldn't go out themselves, or when families needed something in a pinch. that was why i had my name in so many times. it was my last year of being eligible for the games, so i applied for a tesserae for each of my family members. rarely anyone else in the district applied for it, but there were a few other kids who did the same, coming from the same poorer part of the district as i did.

and so, as fate had it, i was reaped for the seventieth hunger games, and came to know the capitol's darling, finnick. he was a charming boy, everyone in panem knew that. by the time of my games, he had sprouted into quite a handsome young man, at the ripe age of 19. i was only a woman, of course i recognized it. in fact, i savored it. i knew i had no skills to win the games, i might as well drink in the sights before the end.

miraculously, i survived my games. survived was... a word you could use, i guess. the neverending trauma, the waking up in cold sweat, the sound of screams ringing in your ears never feels like "surviving", but that's what it could technically be called.

this is the part where i tell you that finnick was there to comfort and guide me through these times, except it's not. in fact, something in my games set him off so badly that he hid himself from me. during my victory tour, he locked himself up in his room, only showing his face during the speeches. instead, mags comforted me, being the wonderful woman she is. she waved off finnick's behavior with a sad glint in her kind eyes whenever i brought it up.

instead, it was me who comforted him. i was sitting in my room in the capitol, waiting for the party the following day at snow's mansion, when i heard a loud thunk outside of my door. when i opened it, i saw finnick, leaned up against the wall, in a daze. i immediately ushered him in, his body moving lethargically through the apartment. he all but fell onto the couch, eyes dragging along the surroundings until they finally honed in on me. when he locked eyes with me, his expression faltered, and his eyes began to water. i didn't know what was going on, the ever so cocky and charismatic man was in my victory tour apartment, almost sobbing.

"i won't let them take you, i won't let them." was all he was able to say. he muttered it over and over again, i started to seriously worry about my safety. who was 'they', and what did they want with me?

he later explained the predicament, how the capitol would take "desirable" victors and sell them to the highest bidder for the night. he told me about his 'friend' who had gone through it, but even as the word 'friend' left his lips, he knew that i saw right through him.

when my victory tour officially ended, i returned to district four with a new house and all the riches in panem. i offered my parents and sister to live with me, but they insisted on staying in the shop. they wouldn't take the money i got from the games either, but i managed to pay off a fair few of their bills before they could realize it each month.

so, i was the sole occupant of an overly extravagant house, no need to work, no need to fish, no need to lift a finger. my job was to sit there on the couch and rot away.

after one of his particularly long stays at the capitol, finnick and i found ourselves in a very similar situation to before: him, leaning on my door, broken, looking for some form of real human connection. i, of course, let him in, and just sat there and talked with him. he began to get antsy, pacing my living room. it was still fairly warm outside, so i decided to take him on a nice, calming, late-night walk on the beach. we let the little waves nip at our feet as we talked about small things, nothing too serious. it felt like everything in our lives were entirely too serious, and a break was much appreciated.

this became our routine. every time finnick got back from the capitol, he would show up on my doorstep, and we would take a long walk on the beach. finnick once told me that it was the only way he could get through those stays there, the thought that he would soon be walking among the waves with me.

waves.

when finnick got reaped for the quarter quell, it felt like the air was knocked out of me. it was finnick and mags, and while i stepped forward to volunteer, i was held back by one of the other victors. finnick had talked to me about it a few nights before, lying in bed with me. he made me promise that if one of us was reaped, the other wouldn't volunteer. it would do us no use if we were both in there. there was no chance of the capitol allowing two victors to make it out of the games alive again, not after the chaos that followed katniss and peeta's victory.

as soon as finnick was transported off to the capitol, i locked myself in my house. my bedsheets still smelled like him, and i bunched them up in my hands and cried into them.

i battled with myself, wondering if i should even watch the games. on one hand, i'd know for a fact if he was alive. on the other, i don't think i could bear the sights of him being maimed, mauled, or mutilated. ultimately, to keep my peace of mind, i decided against watching the games. one of the other victors watching was to inform me if he died, and nothing else. i instead spent my days weaving, something finnick taught me over the years. it was his way of focusing his mind, calming the thoughts. when i weaved, it was like he was there right behind me, arms wrapped around my torso as he whispered into my hair the directions.

i didn't know how many days into the games it was, but one day, at some late hour of the night, i heard knocking at my door. my stomach dropped. i could only assume the worst, that someone was here to tell me that finnick had died. i rushed down the stairs and swung open the door, only to be met by a mob of peacekeepers who violently dragged me out of the house and knocked me unconcious.

i don't remember much of what happened to me whilst in the capitol, and the doctors say that's good. they don't want me dwelling on whatever torture they might have put me through. but it freaked me out. according to the doctors, i was there for months. months of my life were just casually blank in my memory, and that freaked me the fuck out. this would be the point where i would start hyperventilating, and the doctors would tell me to focus on the waves.

waves.

the small waves that would hit the sand back at home. the waves of golden hair resting on my chest when i would wake up in my house in victory village. the now bronzer waves that i would see during my daily visitor hours. the lack of sunshine in thirteen really paled out finnick's appearance, though i've been told it was worse when he knew i was still in the capitol. they knew i was precious to him, they knew taking me would be the ultimate revenge towards him. as to how they knew about me and finnick, i had no clue. we weren't officially anything, though i suppose it was a bit incriminating when he moved over half of his belongings to my house a year or so after my games. after all, snow had eyes everywhere.

after a month or so in the medward of district 13, i was finally cleared to roam around on my own, provided that i came in for weekly check-ins. as soon as the words left the doctor's lips, finnick was at the door to my room, arm poised to help steady myself as we walked around. the doctors suggested that we head down to the cafeteria to get me socialized, but finnick seemed to have other plans. i didn't know my way around thirteen, but i knew that a latch in the ceiling certainly could not be the way into the cafe. instead, it took us outside. it was night out, and much colder than the nights in four ever were. finnick simply looked back at me, hand extended towards me with a question lingering in his sea green eyes. i took his hand with no hesitation, letting him pull me up and into the grass. the fresh air filled my lungs, after months of being locked up in stuffy rooms, both in the capitol and in thirteen. we walked in silence, me taking everything in, finnick's hand never leaving mine. eventually, i felt the texture of the ground beneath me change. looking down, i watched as my feet were swallowed by sand. my eyes quickly surveyed the area around us, and quickly spotted a calm pond fed by a small stream. the stream caused the slightest of ripples in the water, which just barely made it to the sand.

"it isn't anything like four, but it's the closest we have here. i would come out here almost every night while you were in the capitol, right there, hoping that i would get to take you here sometime, or better yet, to take you back to four." he told me. i looked up at him, my body aflame from his words. my heart was heavy, knowing how much he suffered while i was there, but knowing that we were here, right now, helped wash away the pain, like the waves hitting the sand.

[itsnotgray]

should’ve seen it coming | cole caufield

what if grumpy x sunshine didn’t work out?

never saw myself writing for cole, but i asked @fantillisdaylight for a few players and i liked this …thing? more than i thought i would. so yeah, hope you guys enjoy!

~

what if sweet, ball of sunshine cole started going out with this grumpy, not so easily impressed girl.

and for a while, it’s perfect, just like all the movies- but then reality sets in.

their differences that they thought they could move past, were too big for the couple to overcome.

cole, who feels like he can’t be anything but sunshine. with her hardened demeanor, he’s terrified that if he gives in to how he really feels, she may not be able to console him.

and she, who feels so intimidated at the thought of letting cole into her head. she’s the complete opposite of sunshine- and the idea of letting cole into the storm cloud she calls her brain is frightening.

eventually, it all comes to a head after a bad game. he comes over to her apartment, hoping her presence can work its magic like usual. but it can’t. cole’s upset, he’s been upset, and he can’t be bothered to hide it anymore.

“cole i’m here to help you-“ she starts, before she’s cut off.

“are you really though? because you don’t seem like it. most people that want to console someone don’t stand there with that blank fucking look on their face,” he bites back, frustration bubbling off of him like steam off a boiling pot of tea.

and she recoils, because there it is. it always happens eventually. she can’t be as expressive as her partner wants her to, and they leave, frustrated that something as simple as a smile or enthusiasm is so hard to draw out from her.

“i’m trying cole, i swear i am. i want to help you, i mean it. let me be there for you,” she begs, trying to stop the outcome she can sense is looming on the horizon.

but he can’t. he’s frustrated, he wants to advertise his fears, his struggles, but that fear of his emotions being too much for her to cope with creeps up again. and so he shuts down, putting up walls he didn’t know he had.

“just- forget it. we’re done here,” he frustratedly lets out.

“what do you mean we’re done here cole? you’re clearly upset- let me be there for you,” she exasperatedly states, tears of frustration building at being stone walled by her normally joyful boyfriend.

“not just here. we’re done, period. i can’t do this anymore,” he says, headed to the kitchen to pour himself a glass of water, hoping that’ll cool the accumulated rage that’s been simmering inside of him for so long, silenced by his need to keep up happy-go-lucky appearances.

his hand grips the cup tightly, as he quietly mutters “i’ll sleep on the couch and be gone by the morning.”

“cole, i- why the hell are you- forget it. clearly i never meant jack shit to you if it’s that easy to call it quits,” she says, mostly to herself, storming off to her bedroom, only letting her tears fall once her back is turned to the boy, who’s walls are now crumbling as he sobs quietly in the kitchen.

but his walls, defense mechanisms he’s never really engaged before, make one final move at protecting his heart.

“fucking avoid it like you usually do. real fucking nice that our relationship is crumbling before our eyes and you can’t utter one fucking word that makes it seem like you’ve ever given a shit,” he practically yells into the darkness of her house, but despite the darkness, the words reach her ears.

there it is. the final nail in the coffin. at his rage-filled words, her back hits the door, hand coming up to muffle the cries building in her throat, emotions begging to come out and scream “i’m here, i promise! she may hide me, but im here!”

her hand is practiced in the action though, and her cries of despair never reach the air.

two lovers that in any perfect world could worked.

two lovers torn apart by a beast that king eurythesus should’ve forced hercules to face in his labors, for then the hero surely wouldn’t have been successful.

a beast by the name of miscommunication.

[kermitkrqb]

A Glimpse of Us || Xavier Thorpe x reader

A/n: Xavier Thorpe can *%#%* #%^ #%^* *+%# #%. 🤭 I thought I would pop in and feed my Xavier enthusiasts. Be sure to interact with me guys, I love hearing your comments 🫶🏼

What to expect: Gender neutral reader, enemies to lovers vibes but at the same time they have mega crushes on each other , academic rivals!!!, no spoilers here lovelies

Xavier Thorpe was the absolute bane of your existence. A force to be reckoned with, as much as you hated to admit it. The boy was as irritatingly sarcastic and outspoken as you were. You loved loathed it and had no problem in showcasing it. He, on the other hand, spent every waking opportunity getting a rise out of you, enjoying the way your cheeks flushed in rosy frustration. He claimed it was his “most favourite colour” to which you would of course scowl. The most frustrating part of it all was that the two of you shared the exact same schedule. It was as if the two of you were destined… to loathe each other of course. You refused to have it any other way, which is what you kept reminding yourself. You huffed trying to calm yourself as you walked down the hall to botanical sciences after a particularly humiliating instance with Xavier during fencing. He had you pinned down on the ground, your chest heaving as the tip of his blade hovered above you claiming the final point of the match.

You recalled his dastardly green eyes twinkling with amusement as you laid beneath him flushed with embarrassment. You scoffed at the memory and internally berated yourself as you made your way to class not noticing how the lanky brunette caught up to you. His long legs striding quicker than usual just to walk next to you. A cocky grin stretched out across his face, “Good game, huh?” No response, you were adamant in ignoring him. He leaned in, his breath tickling your ear, “I especially liked the part where you were sprawled out under me.” You shot your head up, a twinge of pink dusting your face, as your fiery eyes bore into his, “Oh yeah? Glad I made your dreams come true. Must be tiring having to draw me like that all the time without seeing the real thing.” Xavier gasped slightly, he had been caught. Although he would never admit it, he was impressed with your response but also scolded himself for being so obvious in drawing you. About to retort, his words died in his mouth as you both arrived at Thornhill’s class and you rushed to your seat.

The two of you were assigned seats on opposite sides of the room per Thornhill’s request to “maintain the order of peace”. Both of you reluctantly obliged wanting everything nothing to do with each other. Putting your books on your desk, you watched as the long haired boy put his hands up in surrender when Ms Thornhill gave him a warning glance before he could spark anything between the two of you. Xavier of course caught your gaze, giving you a wink to which you responded with a sarcastic smile. Class had soon started as the two of you settled down. The botany professor hoped for at least one peaceful lesson, but her hopes were soon destroyed the moment she quizzed the class, “Can anyone tell me the name of this flower?” You smirked to yourself, this was just too easy. Your hand shot up, eager to grab any participation points you could get. The brunette glanced at you from his seat at the front, upon seeing your raised hand, he followed putting up his own.

The class was quiet not wanting to interfere with the growing tension. Whilst being the only two people with raised hands, Ms Thornhill ignored this not wanting to further fuel your rivalry, “Anyone?” Your fellow classmates look to each other in amusement as Thornhill sighed. She notions for you to state the answer seeing as you were the first to raise your hand. You grin, having seemingly beat the artist in the front row, “Ms, It’s the-” A cheeky smile is on Xavier’s face as he interrupts you, “the Black Dahlia.” Thornhill sighs and prepares for the disruption ahead of her. You breath in deeply whilst looking ahead, “It’s botanical name being Black Narcissus.” She gives you an approving look, “Very well done, Y/n.” You glance over to Xavier, only to see that he was already looking at you. His cheeky smile only widens further when the two of you make eye contact. He decides to tease you mouthing, ‘Pay attention.’ You’re about to reply when the botany professor interrupts your little interaction, “L/n and Thorpe, if you would stop staring each other and listen that would be greatly appreciated.”

The class laughs as the two of you pull yourselves together, Xavier clearing his throat in embarrassment at Thornhill’s implications. Both of you are now too embarrassed to look at each other in fear of being called out like that again. Thornhill looks pleased with herself as the rest of the lesson continues on without disruption from the two of you. At least it was a somewhat peaceful lesson. Botanical sciences soon finishes, and seeing as it was your last class for the day, you made your way back to your dorm for a nap after that exhausting day. Unbeknownst to you, in his respective dorm, Xavier was about to do the same. Taking a cold shower, the tall boy’s mind ran free. Every time he closed his eyes, you were there. Your face tinted pink as he got a rise out of you, the smirk plastered on your face as you competed against him, and finally, the way your chest heaved as you were sprawled out under him.

Xavier groaned splashing his face with more cold water. He just couldn’t stop thinking about you. Drying himself off with his towel, he quickly got dressed in comfortable clothes. His hair still slightly damp as he laid in bed staring at the ceiling. He didn’t want to doze off yet. The artist leaned over and felt around on the floor for one of his sketchbooks, his slender fingers grabbing the cover as he finally found it. It didn’t take much flipping for him to find a sketch of you. After all, you were his muse. He would never admit it out loud, although, after today’s interaction he knew you had caught on. He smiled fondly at one of his first sketches of you. On the page your fiery eyes gazed up at him as your face was deeply flushed pink. He couldn’t recall what he said to get that reaction out of you, and he didn’t really care. As long as he still got that beautiful tint on your face. He wasn’t lying when he said it was his most favourite colour.

Without realising it, he started to doze off at the thought of you. A soft smile plastered on his face as he began to nap. Xavier hadn’t dreamed of any visions for a while although that would quickly change. His eyes fluttered open, confusion etched on his face as the daylight peaked through his dorm window. An arm was wrapped across his bare chest, his breath hitched as he tilted his head to the side. He could just make out your face under the covers. You were snuggled into his side with a soft expression he’d rarely seen before. Catching his eyes you grinned, “Finally you’re awake sleepyhead. I thought I was gonna be trapped under you for eternity.” The vision shifted and the Thorpe boy was now watching himself in third person. Xavier smirked in return, “You’d like that a little too much.” The two of you then shared a sweet kiss, Xavier’s chin now resting on the top of your head. He reminded you, “Remember to be ready by 8:00pm for our dinner.” You smiled looking up at him through your lashes, “How could I forget? Our second anniversary.”

Xavier shot out of bed sitting up. Like all of his visions that he would have in his sleep, it was extremely vivid and clear. His hand ran through his long hair, “Our second anniversary.” He whispered. His vision confirmed it all, even if the tall boy was still in partial denial in regards to your feelings. Obvious to everyone except you, he liked you of course. He just never knew if his feelings would ever make their way past playful bickering and into something more. Xavier wasn’t stupid, the vision obviously confirmed your feelings towards him too. Even before the vision he could tell, especially in the way you brightened up in class when you saw him, the small smile you would try to hide after he would tease you, and if your blush wasn’t a dead giveaway- he wouldn’t know what he’d do. He just didn’t want to be wrong and ruin everything between the two of you. A plan hatched in the mischievous boys mind, he knew you would be extremely stubborn if he outright told you about his vision but, he knew just how to make you crack.

A/n: Part 2 is already written, let me know if you guys want me to release it.

[dicenote]

touta matsuda

discuss

omg YES ty! This is gonna be a long, disorganized ramble, so bear with me!

Touta Matsuda. My blorbo, skrunky scrimblo, love of my life, etc.

There are so many things about Matsuda's character that I could talk about. His impulsivity, his loyalty, his uncertainty... All of it makes a very real and very interesting character. And I think that a lot of his traits shine in one of the most horrifying scenes from his perspective: the Yellow Box Warehouse.

Like, let's take a step back and look at the numbers here. On one side of the warehouse, we've got a guy claiming to be L, and the three members of the old Kira Task Force that he brought with him. On the other side, we've got a different guy claiming to be L and three members of the SPK that he brought with him (oh. and the guy from the Task Force that got kidnapped in the mix). Outside, Kira's accomplice is lying in wait. So we've got ten people in all who are ready for the final showdown. The reveal. The evidence that will finally end this years-long nightmare and point to the true identity of Kira.

And of those 10 people, only one of them doesn't have a clue who Kira really is.

Light is Kira. Mikami is X-Kira and finds out who Kira is as soon as he looks in the room. Near and the SPK are all on the same page. Mogi and Aizawa know. Ide's a bit more on the fence but he wasn't completely in the dark. So Matsuda is the only one who goes in totally blind.

If anyone were to re-write Death Note purely from Matsuda's perspective, the Warehouse scene would go from tense to horrifying. To (nearly) everyone else there, this confrontation isn’t meant to reveal an unexpected truth, it’s to confirm something that they already know. But for Matsuda? Near's request to meet at the warehouse is, at worst, a tactic to once again frame Light. Because Light obviously can't be Kira, right? Light will show Near that he's wrong, and the investigation will continue as normal until the real Kira is caught.

But then Near presents that irrefutable evidence, and everything that Matsuda knew for over five years comes crumbling down. Light starts monologuing about how the world had to be fixed and how no one could ever make it as far as he did. Kira and Light are one and the same. Matsuda always thought that Kira was a well-intentioned person who was helping change the world. Ide and Aizawa and Mogi believed that Kira was evil, they were much stronger in their resolve than Matsuda ever could be. But Light had confessed to him once that he too questioned if what they were doing was right. If Kira was doing right.

Light has always been Kira.

And then comes the absolutely tasty part where Matsuda shoots Light. I love how chapter 106 is called "Intent to Kill", because it reminds me of how Matsuda and Light are foils to each other. Better yet, they can be compared against a man they both held such deep respect for, Soichiro Yagami.

See, Soichiro threatens to kill people a good couple times, and even holds a gun to his son's face, but he never has any intent to kill. In fact, he's never killed anyone, as (I think) Mello points out. It's almost kind of silly. Like, Soichiro draws the line at firing bullets or writing full names in the Death Note, and that's it? Everything else is fair game? Weird line to draw, but go off I guess.

Light, meanwhile, justifies killing thousands. But only with the Death Note. With the Death Note, his intent to kill becomes a righteous one, another step on the path to becoming God of a New World. The criminals deserved to die. Those who get in Kira's way deserve to die. Because Light isn't a serial killer. He's doing the right thing! Crime is going down, war has stopped, and Light is the only one who could have possibly gone this far and done this much good.

And then we're back to Matsuda. I believe the mafia raid is the first time we see Matsuda using a gun, and we see that he's damn good at it. So good, in fact, that he's able to fire only non-lethal shots to get the Death Note back. (Also, fun tidbit: I'm pretty sure he's the only one who doesn't go into the raid with a rifle, he's just got like, a standard-issue cop pistol with a light on it.) The same thing happens in the warehouse, at least initially. He fires at Light's hand to get him to stop writing. Then he and Light yell at each other for a little bit about (who else?) Soichiro. Light demands that Matsuda shoot the others, because he's the only one who understands Kira. When Matsuda hesitates, Light resumes writing Near's name. Then Matsuda fires again and again and again. Anything to make Light stop. Anything to make it all stop. But it becomes obvious that he's not just shooting Light as a deterrent. What does Matsuda say as he's doing it?

"He needs to die!"

The others literally have to drag Matsuda away before he can execute Light on the spot.

Matsuda is a character full of contradictions. He dedicates over half a decade to fighting Kira, but he doubts the whole time. He tries to follow in Soichiro's footsteps but in the end makes the same justification that Light did when he first started writing in the Death Note. This man is a criminal. He deserves to die. The Yellow Box Warehouse not only exposed Light's true colors, but Matsuda's as well.

[laurasblogs-stuff]

TOLERATE IT

(Peeta’s version)

In loving memory of this song being removed from The Eras Tour set list, I'm publishing this little thing I just finished to write. It is technically set after the 74th Hunger Games and during the victory tour, and from Peeta's point of view. Let me know what you think about it, be kind because it's the first time that i write something not in my first language :)

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

I sit and watch you reading with your head low

We’re in the living room.

I don’t even know why I came here, I just wanted to bring your family bread, but I should have said no when Prim asked me to stay for dinner.

It isn’t right to have dinner with your family and forcing you to see me when you don’t have to.

Well, I guess it won’t be a problem, you barely lifted your head when I walked in.

You looked at me behind the book you’re pretending to read for half a second, you couldn’t manage to hold the eye contact even while mumbling ‘hi’.

Now I’m sitting on the opposite side of the couch; you’re just staring at the book in your hands and it’s so obvious that you would want to be anywhere but here right now.

I feel like throwing up.

I should have said no.

I wake and watch you breathing with your eyes closed

I take in a breath so violently that it seems like I was drowning.

I was, in my dream at least. I was underwater, I couldn’t breathe or speak, but the water was so clear that I could see you being mauled by mutts near the lake in the arena. I was trying to scream so hard, to distract them from you, but nothing came out.

I try to not let the tears that are flooding my eyes fall, attempt to adjust my respiration but managing to take just some shaky pathetic breaths.

I feel a weight on my chest: looking down I realize that is your head.

You’re sleeping so peacefully, and I realize you didn’t wake up this night yet.

The thought that I can help you do that makes me want to cry.

Instead, I try to focus on your steady breaths, on your hand that is slowly and involuntarily caressing my rib and on the little smile that is forming on your face.

I sit and watch you

And notice everything you do or don't do

You're so much older and wiser and I

We’re in district three. The last stop at the Capitol is getting closer and tonight you’ve barely eaten anything. I’m watching you dissecting your duck, without even faking to stab it with the fork. Considering that you would never waste food, it is very concerning.

I tentatively tap your knee, thinking I can comfort you, but you shove my hand away.

A fat man with green hair engages me in a conversation and I try to contain my tears while he’s going on about how cute we are together.

Half an hour later, I’m standing in a corner with some red wine in my right hand when I feel a tentative touch on my left wrist.

“Can we sneak out?”

I should say no, I should be mad at you for shutting me out earlier.

I’m resolute to do so, but then I look into your eyes and see pure desperation.

I’m taking too much time to answer, you’ve noticed I’m struggling, and I can see that your bottom lip is starting to tremble, even if slightly.

You’re slowly retracting your hand from my wrist and I really should say no, because I know what sneaking out means with you.

Instead, I grab your hand and lead you away from the crowd.

I wait by the door like I'm just a kid

I feel so stupid waiting here. You always make me wait, don’t you?

Maybe it’s because you know that you will always find me right here.

I know that tonight wasn’t easy for you, we’re just one day away from the Capitol and I shouldn’t blame you for how you’re treating me.

I take a glance at my watch and notice it’s almost midnight.

I feel like that time I was five, maybe four, waiting outside my mother’s room to give her a drawing. I hoped that would make her forgive me for not being able to carry the pans. I remember standing there for hours, with the piece of paper in my right hand and a burning cheek; she never opened the door.

Just as I’m starting to feel my eyes burning, probably because of the lack of sleep, I can hear your footsteps approaching the door.

Use my best colors for your portrait

I know you hate them.

I saw that in your eyes when I showed you my paintings.

I know it was mostly because they reminded you of the arena and your nightmares, but I can say almost for sure that you were not happy about the fact that you were in almost all of them.

I’m perfectly aware that you would hate what I’m working on right now, and I promised myself to never let you see it.

But I can’t help searching for the best colors to use for your hair, trying to imagine what they would look like outside, in the sun.

What colors your eyes would have if you smiled at me as if you really meant it.

Lay the table with the fancy shit

And watch you tolerate it

I’m really trying to make this dinner pleasant for you, I really am.

I know that you hate all of this: this enormous table, the stupid pink cloth on top of it, the unnecessary gold cutlery.

You’re clenching your fist around the knife while some lady with blue hair is explaining to me how they make jewelry here, and I’m listening along just so she won’t bother you.

She’s quite old, and she’s insistent while making me feel her necklace that is sitting just a little too low on her exposed cleavage.

I’m assuming that you’re not even aware of what’s happening when you let the gleaming knife drop on the plate.

The blue haired woman immediately drops my hand while directing her stunned look towards the source of disturbance, but you’re already standing up and dragging me with you on the dancefloor.

While we’re swinging on some soft notes, I brush your hair to the side and put my mouth close to your ear.

“What was that earlier? If you wanted to dance, you could just go.”

My tone is playful, but your expression isn’t when you look up at me. It’s clear that you’re hesitant about what to say, and your cheeks start to veer toward a light red while your brain is searching for the right words to use.

I begin to think that it decided to use no words at all, when I feel your hand slightly brushing my hair before answering me.

“I wanted you just for me.”

I feel the words tickle my neck, and they seem to give me a little more air to breath.

You look up at me just for a millisecond before diverting your eyes again.

“At least for a little while.”

[thedragonagebigbang]

Bang Creator Interview: Tumblr: @greypetrel  |  AO3: stridingcorgi  

The Collaboration period has begun! In these quiet months before works are due, we want to foster a sense of excitement, camaraderie, and celebration among our participants. To that end, all participants were given the option of a formal interview by our mod, Dema, or an informal “ask-game” survey. We hope you enjoy getting to know our phenomenal creators as much as we have!

Q&A with Arja

What is your favorite origin?

Definitely the Mahariel one. I do think that all the origins in DA:O are well done and well thought, I do love the Tabris one. But there's something in Mahariel that makes me prefer it over every other one in all three games for how it drags into the game and cause -for me- quite a different view on the events of the game.

Mahariel, as a blank character, has not the same drive of all the other Origins to enter the Grey Wardens. Oh, sure, the alternative is dying... But it's sad that you *can't* take that alternative. You can't choose, you are still forced to go through with the ritual even if it's not your character's choice. There's nothing personal at stake for them, nothing that makes entering the Grey Wardens the best option. If Cousland dies, the family dies with them, Aeducan needs to settle things up, Brosca and Tabris would be caught and imprisoned, Amell and Surana punished with Jowan. Mahariel could lay in a ditch and die: they saw in a day their best friend/love interest possibly die, the clan doesn't want to look for him, not even to bury his body, you're kicked out of the clan and made to follow the convenient Grey Warden that was passing through.

And sure, the Blight would eventually reach the Sabrae clan as well if unchecked... But what has Mahariel to do with politics in Fereldan? What does Mahariel even care for a country that offers them as a boon for saving everything a patch of blighted land to the Dalish, a castle full of darkspawn to them as a thank you?

I do love how detached Mahariel is, it's more subtle of a tragedy as all the other origins, but... I see a small margin of win in all other origins. For Mahariel it's mostly losing. And losing, and losing and losing again, for a country that never cared and won't start caring now. I love how it's the origin that makes you see Duncan and Eamon as mainly negative figures, against the others. Duncan is the one that took away your choices and forced you to enter a cult, the one who left your friend for dead and didn't look behind. Eamon just uses you, as well as he uses Alistair. It may be more subtle on angst levels, but it's pervasive, you have a character with nothing much at stake and I'm chewing on this.

Forgive me the TED talk, I tried to keep it brief but I'm into an Origins replay and *I have thoughts*, ahahahah.

What is your favorite subject to draw or paint?

What I like to find and explore in any consumption of media: characters. I love to explore different sides of humanity (or lack thereof in a safe environment such as fiction - and we all know that liking villains in fiction doesn't equate to liking the same set of behaviours in real life, right?).

I tend to overconcentrate on expressions, characters and their emotion: how do they react to a certain environment, another character they're interacting with, a situation they're facing? That's what I like to draw. I come from comics, and storytelling keeps being important even in illustrations. Adding small details, focusing on the expression, that's my jam.

On a more trivial matter: I do *love* exploring clothes and different styles of dresses! It's a research every time and learning something new, which I really love. It tells a lot on the nature of a character: where do they come from, their personality, how practical they are, how showy, how much time they're willing to spend doing their hair in the morning... It's all connected to storytelling, still. Plus the research. I love researching.

And I do love painting dramatic lights best! Stark sunsets, bonfires under the moonlight...

What drew you to tackle a Big Bang?

The collaboration part, mainly.

Art can be a pretty solitary occupation, and even if I'm lucky to have friends whom I can talk with, and being private enough not to care a bit about fandom popularity... I do love a good collaboration and trying myself to illustrate something written by another person as the fic is being worked upon sounded really appealing.

So, the collaboration and meeting new people: fandom is for the community and for all "playing" together with something we all share and love, exchanging points of views and interpretations of the same character, hype each other and be merry together. I'm not the best at the social part, I'm shy, but the environment seemed focused enough on keeping interactions positive and constructive, and avoid drama, that I decided to take a try. I'm very happy I did and I can't wait to see the whole thing finished and see what the others have come up with. For the meanwhile I'm very excited about the fic I'm illustrating, and I hope it'll show in the final piece.

[and-justice-for-zoisite]

𝕎𝕚𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟 𝕐𝕠𝕦 (Shang Tsung x Reader)

Official Masterlist

Summary: you have made it to the end of time, and everyone you once knew was gone - everyone but the evil sorcerer who enchanted you and gave you everything you could've asked for. But...was this what you really wanted?

-

A/N: so this one's just short and sweet, I got this idea randomly in my head so I artistically spewed all over my laptop and you guys get to read the mess!!

I wrote this based on the song Within you by David Bowie as well as the scene after the song in the movie Labyrinth. You'll notice the direct quotes from the movie, and all credit goes to the writers of labyrinth. I'll link both videos just below:

I just thought that the song and scene fit Shang Tsung's character so well and I simply couldn't help myself. So, enjoy! <3

-

How you turn my world, you precious thing, You starve and near exhaust me.

Here you were, at the very dawn and end of all time. Standing before you, was no one other than Shang Tsung.

Everything I've done, I've done for you, I move the stars for no one.

You had started to question your judgement a long while into his scheme, having had it prepared from the moment he escaped the hourglass with you, Fujin and Nightwolf. Ultimately, you had been loyal to him, and you never made it a habit to question him.

'He knew what was best for the two of you,' you'd tell yourself.

You've run so long, you've run so far, Your eyes can be so cruel, Just as I can be so cruel.

But was this what you really wanted?

Everyone you ever had a connection with, everyone you had ever known...they were now all gone, their lives extinguished by Shang Tsung's insatiable hunger for power. The weight of their absence bore heavily upon your heart, and the realization that you had become a pawn in his sinister game began to gnaw at your soul.

As you stood face to face with the embodiment of your servitude, doubts and fears welled up inside you like a tidal wave. The once blinding allure of power and control had faded, replaced by a deep longing for freedom and the restoration of the life you had lost.

Shang Tsung, sensing the turmoil within you, smirked knowingly, his eyes gleaming with a predatory glint.

"Come now, (Y/n)," Shang began, his tone tempting, "is this not what you wanted? Together, we can reshape the realms to our liking. No longer shall we be bound by the constraints of mortality or the fleeting connections of a fragile world."

His words hung in the air, seductive and dangerous. The temptation to embrace the darkness, to let go of the pain and forge a new existence, tugged at the edges of your consciousness.

"...this..." you said, just above a whisper as you shook your head, "...this isn't what I wanted. You...you took away so many innocent people, removed them from existence after giving them an agonising death. I wanted us to rule together, sculpt the sands of time by both our hands but..."

You shuddered, refusing to look at him.

"...had I known you'd kill so many innocent people, I would never have gone through with this scheme of yours."

Shang Tsung's facade of amusement faded, replaced by a flicker of annoyance. He had expected compliance, not resistance from you. His eyes narrowed, his voice tinged with irritation.

"You dare question my methods now? After all we've been through, all the power I've bestowed upon you?" he spat, his words dripping with venom.

You took a step back, the weight of his anger pressing against you like a suffocating force. But you stood your ground, drawing strength from the memory of those who had been lost.

"...you...you used me for my divine status. You corrupted me," you quavered, feeling tears prick your eyes though you would never give this man the satisfaction of tears. "I should've listened to my brothers when they told me to stay away, and...now they're dead, gone."

"(Y/n), beware. I have been generous up until now. I can be cruel," Shang warned you. "Generous?," you questioned him, your brows furrowed. "What have you done that's generous?"

"Everything!" he snapped, grabbing you roughly by the wrist as he made you look at him, "everything that you wanted I have done. You asked that I remove the obstacles of our love, I removed them. You cowered before me, I was frightening. I have reordered time. I have turned the world upside down, and I have done it all for you!"

His expression softened, as did his grip on your wrist.

"I am exhausted from living up to your expectations. Isn't that generous?"

You stared at Shang Tsung, his words echoing in your mind. Even if you could go back now, your brothers would never forgive you for courting with this beast of a person. Being a protector of Earthrealm and a water goddess, you failed your duties to safeguard the innocent and maintain the delicate balance of the realms. The weight of your failures crushed upon your shoulders, and a deep sorrow washed over you.

As much as you loved this man, as much as he had lulled you into a false sense of security, was there for you when you were at your lowest points, when you were hurting, when you were lonely...you couldn't help but think, did he do that because he cared? Or was it all part of his scheme? From the very beginning?

Though, at this point, what other choice did you have?

You were far too late.

"I ask for so little. Just fear me, love me, do as I say and I will be your slave."

He was under your skin, and there was nothing you could do about it.

In submission, you leaned into him, allowing him to wrap and arm around your waist while the other wielded a powerful magic, one which served to shape the sands of time to his liking.

How sick you were for loving this man so.

-

[earls-wife]

The reposts have begun! The Wife and Earl have been married for a few years in this one.

As always female reader only!

Warnings: aesthetic appreciation of body parts, memories of sex, mentions of claw marks/bites and hickeys, stripping, possible food reference, the Earl speaks French to you

Mon bijou- my jewel

Tarts

"Why are you so anxious Mon bijou? Did that head of yours start telling lies again?" The way his voice caressed me was a blessing, as was the way his gloved hand traces my back in gentle strokes.

Poised over a letter I had ruined yet another piece of paper with dripping ink from a quill he had gotten me.

Crumpling the mess I threw it to the side haphazardly to join the others. "Yes and no, it's difficult to say really." His gentle smile and sapphire eyes met me with comfort when my head rested on his stomach to peer up at him.

"I understand. We both are cruel to ourselves are we not?" His soft lips and sharp jaw move eloquently as he speaks.

"Indeed. We should learn to do better."

"And we will, in time." In a fluid motion I'm lifted from the chair and into his arms, skirts billowing about us. "As you tell me, a break will do you good, so let us spend some time together away from our minds."

I laugh cupping his cheek to kiss the prickled skin. He would need to shave soon, for appearances sake. "And what does my lord have in mind? We are creatures of habit after all, our minds are our palaces."

"A primal practice."

"Primal?" My brow lifts wondering if he was insinuating what I thought he was as he carried me to the day room. There I found tarts of different delights to welcome me.

Setting me down on the lounge he leans over me, hair falling in his face as he chases each breath I take. "Did you have something else in mind?" He purred.

"Not at all." I smirk, brushing our noses along each other while a hand strokes his white cotton sleeve. His arms weren't bulky like most men I saw work the kitchens or garden where we stayed. His arms were lean and precise, chiseled from marble with great care by a master carver. Those cufflinks at his wrists were an enemy to my wandering fingers. He knew this of course, delighted in the games we played despite the many years we had known one another.

"Pity. I was so excited to eat these off you." He challenges my bluff, pulling away to serve himself a tart of a deep red. The red I wore for him across my lips.

Those lips pursed as I had been had by him. Again. Most of the time he won our games since he was so smart. Intelligent really, more so than any man I'd known.

Watching his posture relax an idea came to mind and I acted.

"Indeed what a pity. After all, I do believe it's your turn to be my plate." Bracing myself on my arms I smiled as he stilled and looked over. Setting his current pastry down he spoke.

"Is it now?"

"Yes."

The word came out boldly and his eyes widened. For a second I wondered if I had gone to far, his past always a gorge between us.

To my surprise I watched him wipe his hands on a wet towel and start to loosen his clothes. Lucky, lucky me.

His fingers sliding against a tiny button forcing it back through the shapely fabric of his shirt drawing my eye. I could get lost in those fingers. I could recall their taste on my tongue when he stuck them between my lips. His praise as I cried out in ecstasy when he'd been pounding into my core. Those fingers prying music from me that even I hadn't heard before. But he was ever expectant to pull me down into the throws of passion with him everytime we made love.

That porcelain skin, I knew the texture of it. Reveled in it when it caressed my own. Never rough, no facet of his body ever was despite the sharp lines his structure created. That stark white shirt fell away to reveal the supple muscles beneath. Tongue longing to lick the divets of each shadow cast, the pink healthy glow of his skin reminded me of a blossom in spring. Untouched and ready to be devoured.

The bite marks across his neck and collarbone make me smirk. Still bold and bright as the claw lines down his spine from the night before. Mine.

"Distracted already?" He teased undoing the buttons on his pants knowing where my eyes lingered.

I lick my lips. "Not at all. Just eager to eat."

[blackjackkent]

So something occurred to me as I was fixing Rakha's saves the other day, which is that we're about to reach the point where Orin starts making her appearances. And because I am deeply mean to my characters, I would really like to metagame and force Rakha's first experience with Orin to be the dryad love test.

The downside here is that it's pretty challenging to convince Rakha to even go to the circus in the first place, let alone talk to the dryad. But we do have one thing in our corner, which is that Rakha trusts Wyll's opinions about things very strongly, and Wyll, canonically, is a Dribbles fan.

I was sort of hoping he might say something in-game that would serve as a catalyst for Rakha to check the thing out, but he did not, so as usual, I will make my own fun. :P

------

Wyll glances at the circus poster idly as they wander by - then stops and does a double take. "Wait - Dribbles?" he says. "Really?"

Rakha stops as well, automatically. She's been lost in thought brooding over the business with the ox, but the unexpected smile on Wyll's face does a great deal to draw her out of her thoughts. It's a little unexpected, given the severity of everything happening around them, but he looks happy. "Dribbles?" she asks.

He points. "Dribbles the Clown. I used to sneak out to watch him when I was a boy, whenever the circus came into town."

"Circus?" Rakha examines the poster curiously. It's brightly colored and has a lot of exclamation points on it but bears relatively little concrete information.

He considers how to explain it. "A performing company," he says. "They travel and put on shows - music and jokes and tricks and such." His smile widens. "We ought to go in. About time you see a bit of the world that isn't all battles and evil."

Lae'zel looks mildly puzzled and Minthara makes a noise of impatience, but Jaheira laughs softly. "After the days we have had, even I would welcome a bit of clownery," she says dryly.

Rakha tilts her head with some skepticism. This seems like the least of their concerns at present, and she can see how crowded it is inside the circus's fence and does not much enjoy the idea. But Wyll's excitement is unmistakable; she feels suddenly acutely aware of how glad he is to be back among the city's people, seeing pieces of the lost life Mizora ripped away from him.

"All right," she says with a slight nod. "Let's go."

-----

The circus has a guard at the door, accompanied by an unpleasant-looking ghoul, magically leashed and sniffing over each guest as they arrive.

"I'd like to enter the circus," Rakha tells the guard gravely.

To his credit, the guard seems utterly unfazed by Rakha's increasingly ominous appearance. "Not a problem, dear patron!" he says brightly. "Benji just has to check if you're a vicious murderer. Benji!"

Before Rakha can figure out how to respond to this, the ghoul steps forward, sniffing aggressively at her as she has seen it do to other patrons. Then it goes, abruptly, very still - which is unusual.

Its head rolls back and its eyes go wide. "BLOOD!" it screeches. "TASTY BLOOD! SO DELICIOUS. AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA..."

Pain stabs through Rakha's head. Her eyes narrow to slits and she clenches her fists at her side as the beast in her brain yowls in eager answer to the ghoul's shouts. Yes-- blood-- it knows-- it understands-- kill-- kill-- kill--

A muscle spasms in her jaw as every muscle in her body clenches with the effort not to lash out.

No. No. Stop.

For a moment she can't even focus on the fact that this ghoul somehow knows her and everything that is wrong with her. All she can think is that it isn't fair. It isn't fair-- this was something that brought a smile to Wyll's face like she has never seen before, but even this is touched and tainted at once by the corrupted darkness that is growing ever stronger in her head.

It isn't fair.

The guard, unaware of the battle raging inside Rakha's skull, grins casually. "That's a first!" he says with cheerful disinterest. "Usually I'd allow you in, but in these times, I can take no chances. Move along - no circus for you."

She doesn't have to turn to see the disappointment cross Wyll's face. She can feel it in the tadpole connection between them, the flash of regret and fear and dismay.

And then, so subtle and deep that she isn't sure Wyll himself is even aware of it, resentment. Another thing Rakha's broken mind is tearing apart. Another thing he must be strong and bear in order to support her.

And she knows he will bear it, because he is a good man and loyal and loves her beyond what she deserves. But he shouldn't have to. It isn't fair.

No. This thing, this circus, was for him. She won't let it be taken from him, not because of her. They will see it, no matter how this guard tries to stop them.

Before she realizes what she's doing, she takes a step forward, locks eyes with the man. [INTIMIDATION] "Let me in," she says, her voice a monotone of exhaustion, "or I snap you in two."

She hates herself for the blaze of fear that ripples across the man's features, for the way the beast gleefully laps at the image of his death. "Forgive me!" the guard says hastily, his voice trembling as he struggles to paste a smile back onto his face. "I must have misspoken! Welcome to the Circus of the Last Days! Have fun, and be sure to catch the star of our show, Dribbles the Clown!"

He scoots aside hastily to let them pass as the doors of the circus slide open.

Rakha stalks inside, the others trailing behind her. Wyll quickens his pace a little until he's at her side. "You didn't have to do that," he says in a low voice, his expression troubled.

"Yes, I did," she says shortly, not looking at him.

[crisalidaseason]

Sixth entry: don’t mix work and friendship

I suggest you don’t befriend your assignment more than  strictly necessary. It makes your job a little too difficult. If you start to care about them it complicates things for you, your boss and your ward. Though I won’t judge if you’re not able to separate work and friendship, it’s not like I was able to do it. 

Another card flipped, another lost round. Liam did not know why he kept playing games when Xaden had an uncanny ability to predict most of his moves. Liam huffed at the loss of yet another round, drawing a card from the pile. 

“Tell me about the sparring sessions” Xaden’s voice was relaxed.

“What do you want to know?” Liam shrugged as he finally won the next round. 

His brother remained silent for a few seconds, though not paying much attention to the game. The line between his forehead was a permanent feature for the last month. 

“I heard from Imogen you’ve been sparring with Sorrengail”

“You could have asked ‘Hey, how is sparring with Sorrengail going?’ “ Liam smirked “You know, like a normal person”

Xaden lowered his deck of cards in annoyance, narrowing his dark eyes on Liam. 

“You’re spending too much time around Violence” 

There it was. The nickname. Fuck, Xaden was so into Violet that it was honestly distressing. At that point Liam was about to join forces with Garrick and lock them in a room - though he feared it would not work considering Xaden’s pathological denial and Violet’s headache-inducing stubbornness. 

“I’m just following orders” Liam raised his hands in surrender. 

Xaden’s next combination of cards were displayed more aggressively than normal. Ops, the conversation was hitting a nerve

“Well” he began “for your information, brother, things are rough but she is getting better. I don’t spar with her as much, Rhiannion is the one who trains her the most” 

“Do you think she’ll be able to handle challenges?”

Liam frowned. From what he heard from her squad, she was able to win all of her matches so far, with a few injuries. Where Violet lacked brute strength she countered with agility, speed and pattern analysis. 

“You think she can’t?” Liam asked.

“I didn’t say that” his brother muttered “I worry about Barlowe”

“She might not even be matched with him-” 

“She will” Xaden interrupted “this place is fucking sick, at some point they’re going to throw that motherfucker at her”

Liam went silent, their game long ignored by both players. He understood the worry, if Violet and Barlowe were matched…the fucker would go for the kill.

“She is fast with the knives” Liam began.

“But she does not go for killing blows” Xaden said between gritted teeth “she didn’t at fucking threshing”

Liam’s was confused for a few moments. He did see her wrapped arms, but had thought it was simply Tairn marking her, not Barlowe.

“He went for her at threshing?”

Xaden nodded, shaking his head as if the memory aggravated him. 

“Motherfucker tried to kill Andarna with other two cowards, Sorrengail tried to stop them by herself” 

He was not surprised by her act of defense for Andarna. Liam had learned Violet had a stubborn and strong sense of justice.

“Three against one, people really like ganging up on her” Liam grimaced, Violet had more enemies going for her neck than him…and he was a marked one! 

“She handled it well considering her injuries, but it was fucking reckless and she had the nerve to knock out Seinfert with the wrong end of the dagger” Xaden’s voice was definitely aggravated.

Liam shivers remembering what her mercy cost. Sometimes he saw the flashes of Oren’s face above him with a sword in hand. 

“The point is, she never went for killing blows, not even to defend herself! Same thing when they fucking jumped her last month. Sorrengail never goes for the kill” 

If Barlowe got her on the mat, would she kill him? Liam was afraid to think she wouldn’t, or at least would hesitate enough to be in actual danger. 

“Fuck” was all Liam could say.

As noble as it was to keep your hands clean, that was impossible in the riders quadrant. And with the bond tying Xaden and Violet…she would have to give in at some point. 

“What are we going to do?” Liam said after a while “we can’t interfere with challenges”

Xaden remained silent for a few minutes, eyes distant. He sighed deeply, the tiredness painting every inch of his frame. Even with Violet’s safety being delegated to Liam, his brother was still shouldering the issue. 

“I don’t know, Liam, but I won’t let them kill her”

Liam simply agreed. He had a strong feeling Xaden was not worried about his own life - he hadn’t for a while. There was something too personal with how he killed Seifert, how he asked about Violet when Liam had to report, the way he stared at her whenever she entered a room. His brother had an unmistakable interest in her - one Liam would consider far from a simple sexual attraction, but would not dare name it. All he could do was give advice and hope his brother understood that he could not ignore her forever. 

“You have to talk to her” Liam blurted “ally yourself to Violet, discuss things together. You don’t need to be friends but you need to talk. Build trust!”

Xaden denied vehemently, closing his eyes, but Liam did not care. Xaden could protest all he wanted. 

“She cannot have a bodyguard forever, Xaden! Don’t get me wrong, I would protect Violet like any other friend of mine, but she needs to grow on her own too. You taught me, she could use your teachings too”

“You are just as capable as I am” 

“But it’s you she needs to trust! It’s your life tied to hers!” Liam insisted “Violet doesn’t know you and if both of you want to survive out of this quadrant then you have to trust one another. You can’t trust someone you never speak with”

Xaden stood up abruptly, cards all silling on his bed sheets. He went straight to the window, back facing Liam and he almost regretted bringing the topic again, knowing his brother’s aversion to acknowledging Violet’s existence - while simultaneously watching her like a hawk. Liam could not care less about his brother’s denial, he focused on the future and the future needed Xaden and Violet to work together. He dared to say the revolution’s success was tied to them trusting one another. 

“Liam, I don’t want to fight over this again-”

“Okay, so we don’t fight. Let’s talk! What are you so afraid of? You had no issues talking to her before all of this”

“You better return to your room” was all Xaden replied firmly, shutting himself for any form of communication. 

Liam sighed in frustration, throwing his deck of hard on the bedsheet and going for the door. One more time Liam would not succeed in convincing his brother. 

“If you don’t make a decision now, life is going to make it for you…and you might not like it” was the last thing Liam said on his way out. 

Xaden did not speak to him for a few days after the argument, but Liam was already used to his brother’s behavior. Liam knew his words were true and would not apologize for wanting the best for the people he cared for

“You seem upset today” Violet commented on their way to the archives. 

He tried to shake the argument off of his face that morning, but it was difficult considering the topic of the conversation was the girl beside him. He considered telling it was nothing serious, but he was honestly in need of some advice, and that particular Sorrengail seemed to be good at it.

“Nothing serious” Liam shrugged, eyes focused on his wooden sculpture “sometimes Xaden and I don’t see eye to eye”

“I know the feeling” she smiled at him “I think the more we care about someone more complicated things get”

He nodded, smiling with no real happiness behind it. 

“Had a lot of fights with your siblings?” he asked, but soon wanted to bite his own tongue “shit…sorry”

He might know Brennan Sorrengail was alive, but she was still a mourning sister. 

“It’s okay. I like talking about him” she said, putting a comforting hand on his forearm “and yes, we did fight a lot, mostly because I was a little stubborn as a kid”

A little? He knew her for a month and most of Violet’s personality was composed of unsettling analysis, stubbornness, kindness and unusual humor. 

“Violet Sorrengail did not like taking orders, I imagine” he teased her. 

She chuckled lightly, eyes distant as if remembering a sweet memory.

“We usually fought whenever I sneaked out and ended up hurting myself” she shrugged “I’d always do it again, even if they got pissed”

He could picture her younger self being a menace, her two-tone hair morphing into a light blonde as Sloane’s own shenanigans played behind his eyes. Fuck, he missed his sister. 

“Must be interesting being your sibling. Never a dull day in the Sorrengail household”

Her laughter lightened up his mood severely.

“What about you and your sister?” she asked “tell me something she did that drove you mad”

Liam scoffed, the memory fresh in his mind. 

“Sloane has a sharp tongue, pretty much like you” he said raising his fingers as he listed his sister’s behaviors “has no sense of authority, like you do, and does not back down, like someone I know! I was often scolded because of her behavior”

“I like her” Violet declared.

“Of course you do” he rolled his eyes “I bet the two of you would get along well”

She grimaced a little. 

“I don’t think so” she said “the last name is kind of a mood killer”

“Hey!” he playfully hit her in the arms “I like you, don’t I?”

“You don’t count. You’re nice to everyone, Liam!” she countered “but I also don’t expect any of you to like me, it’s not fair”

Their conversation was cut short once they arrived at the archive’s door and then began their book exchanges with Jesinia. He thought about Violet’s words while stacking the tomes neatly into the cart. He knew many marked ones did not like her solely because of a last name, but he really hoped Sloane would not be one of them. He wondered if he should write about Violet to his sister, warm her up before she entered the quadrant. Yeah, that was a solid idea! 

“Thank you, Jesinia” Violet signed once they finished the exchange. 

They left the archives without hurry, stretching the peaceful moment until the inevitable hectic day started. 

“You’re a good person, Violet” he blurted a few minutes into their walk.

She looked at him with a slight frown between her eyebrows. 

“Uh…thank you?”

“I mean it” he affirms “I’m sure Sloane will like you once she gets to know you like I did” 

“You’ve known me for a bit more than a month” she laughs “what if I am a lying spy?”

Liam tried his best not to laugh at her, Violet might not have the strongest punch, but she knew exactly where to hit and hurt like shit.

“I think one month was enough for my verdict” he said “besides, you’re kind of an open book, Violet. You could not lie for the life of you! I highly doubt you’re a spy.”

She rolled her eyes at him, their stroll finally reaching the end as they entered the academic wing.

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