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e1dritchjackal0pe · 7 months ago

Text

ᴛʜᴇ ᴠᴏɪᴅ ᴄᴀʟʟꜱ

Summary: Your arranged marriage to the na-Baron is something that you look upon with a sense of dread and reluctance. His violence, brutality and cunning are something that haunts you. You should fear him. You do. But for some reason, you can't seem to stay away.

Warnings: 18+ content. MDI. AFAB, she/her pronouns. Reader is a virgin but not entirely inexperienced, virginity loss. Hints of morally gray reader. Oral (F!Receiving), biting and blood, PinV, non-protected sex, Canon typical violence (blood, death, gladiator fights). Feyd. Not proofread.

Notes: 20.4k words. The essence of enemies to lovers. The reader is an Atreides but not a daughter of Jessica. IDK ya'll, something about seeing Austin Butler bald and deranged has altered me.

𝔓𝔞𝔯𝔱 𝔦𝔦

I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer.

Your heart is in your throat. It feels as though it's lodged itself in place between the cartilage and flesh to choke your windpipe, making each breath snag and tremble. You can practically feel it pulsing along your pharynx. You try to focus, steeling yourself by lacing your fingers together until you fear you might break them. Not even the litany that has been engrained in you since childhood serves to center your thoughts, but still you try. Chanting lowly in your head and quietly under your breath as not to be heard. As not to reveal your anxiety, but you know that the evidence of your distress must be more than obvious. And it had been very apparent since this morning, as you prepared for your travel to Giedi Prime where you will be married.

Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration.

The looks that Lady Jessica had given you were harsh and piercing. The eyes of a teacher. You had found no forgiveness in her arms even though she has done her best to take the place of your mother. But she is a Bene Gesserit first. Always. Just as you must be. But you must also be an Atreides. Duty is your purpose. It runs in your blood. It's the very reason why you pull air into your lungs. It's why you were even born. You have to honor that. Even if it requires sacrifice. Even if fear trembles down each and every notch of your spine; even when your thoughts are scattered and wild; even with the entire trajectory of your life being placed into the palms of some of the most ruthless beings in the universe. You will survive.

I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me.

You swallow harshly, trying to force down your nerves with it but the way that the craft shudders and trembles with the strain of breaking through the foreign planet's atmosphere doesn't help. It only serves to make your inner turmoil worse. Your gaze sweeps around the cabin, a hollow thing meant for military, not comfort, and the presence of a small squad clad in their combat armor reminds you of the strained relationship that your family has nurtured with this house for several millennia. A reminder that you aren't supposed to be here on your own. Nearly clawing at your own hands and struggling to center yourself as the cold, dark walls of the ship tremble and shake like the stomach of starved animal. Your wedding was supposed to take place on Richese, a neutral planet that no longer governs political alliances with neither Caladan nor Giedi Prime. That is what had been negotiated long before you were even born, with both Houses having been too paranoid to allow both products of their lineage onto enemy territory. But a month before the wedding, the Baron had sent word. An invitation of sorts, that he wished to encourage the House of Atreides to allow the union to commence on his soil as a token of good faith. As a signal that all of the bad blood and the violence shared between each party could finally be laid to rest.

But as with most houses, it was more than just an invitation. It strengthened the Harkonnen image to place forth the olive branch and if Duke Leto refused it could be seen in bad light. A sign of weakness or distaste. The summoning could not be refused lest it smear the Atreides name in the eye of the Emperor, always a fickle and superficial man. Even with that logic, you can't help the spike of anger that rouses in your chest and threatens to burn. It's because of that sense, no matter how correct it may be, that you're sitting in this damned ship, breaking into the polluted atmosphere of a dead planet when you could have had just one more day on soil that wasn't obscured and marred by heavy cities and volcanic rock.

Selfish. You're just being selfish.

Even though she is not here to guide you, the image of Lady Jessica's eyes flash within your mind, sharp and exacting despite their light shade; amplified by the delicate, embroidered fabric that framed her head just this morning. School your face, her expression tells you. And she - or at least the mental image of her, is right. You can't let yourself fall to your emotions, no matter how strongly they want to eat you alive. You've prepared for this moment since your first breath. You've spent nearly every waking moment practicing in the ways of the Bene Gesserit under the guidance of Lady Jessica. You'vee spent countless hours poring over the history and politics of both houses in preparation for your future role; what must have amounted to months of studying the culture and customs of the Harkonnen. All of them seem to be rooted in violence and savagery in some way or another. Aggression and cunning are prized traits. Bloodshed is coveted. The people according to old texts and educational filmbooks are just as severe as their environment. An environment that they had cultivated from their brutal and avaricious nature, tearing up all of its resources until nothing was left.

You can't help but wonder if you will suffer the same fate.

But if you are going to be honest with yourself, it isn't the toxic hellscape or even the idea of marriage that puts you on edge. It is him. Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen is someone who is notorious for his violence. Stories of his conquests and cruelty echo out across the houses, Minor and Major; there is not a soul who hasn't heard of his reputation. And despite having been promised to him since before your birth, you haven't met the na-Baron once in your life. Both houses had been too stubborn to schedule an interaction between the two of you. Most likely due to mistrust. Plus, a meeting isn't necessarily required for a marriage to commence, not one amongst houses, at least. But the fact that you haven't so much as seen the na-Baron's face has always left you feeling horribly vulnerable. Like you have been left to navigate you footing in the dark and the slightest misstep might leave you to tumble into the void. It had been another reason why you have always been so adamant on learning of the Harkonnen people; some desperate venture to discover as much about your soon to be husband as possible. You've tried to paint some sort of image of him in your head with the information provided by word of mouth and old filmbooks. Gurney had been one of the first people to warn you of Harkonnen ruthlessness. Their proclivity towards greed and violence. A violence that they don't even spare their own people from.

"You will have to be strong," he told you just before you had boarded onto the star craft, eager to speak to you before you left forever. It was his worry you knew. He was panicked inside despite being the picture of composure. The look in his eyes had kept you frozen in place, locked onto him even with the mild thrum of chaos and bodies clamoring around you, servants and soldiers alike working to prep the ship for your flight, loading trunks and chests full of your personal belongings onto the carrier. It was firm; the type of resolution that is brought from experience. From a personal sort of pain and the glint of it left you feeling empty; gutted. The only thing that kept you centered was the grip of his hand on your forearm, firm and warm in its hold like it may help to drill his words better into your skull. "Every moment will be a fight for you. Harkonnen sniff out weakness like dogs. You cannot yield. Ever."

You've heard words like that about them all your life. Horror stories from Atreides soldiers who had encounters with opposing Harkonnen forces. Tales of stark, pale skin and the glint of snarling blackened teeth before they deliver a killing blow. Features that a younger version of yourself never would have imagined for her intended. But those naive, wistful fantasies that you used to entertain as a child are long gone now. Replaced by the harsh realities of war and bloodshed. When you were a girl, still ignorant to the true depth of your duties, you had imagined someone with kind, intelligent eyes as your future husband. Someone patient and understanding; even with the whispers of the Harkonnen's true nature lurking over you like leaping shadows. But back then you were young enough to have hope. Back then, you would dream of him too in the flashes of deep, piercing eyes; you'd hear the low rumble of a voice while blades flashed and carved through pale air.

And on some nights visions still torment you. But now they taunt with the sensation of phantom touches and the mirage of balmy skin that sears against you own so intently that sometimes it tears you from your slumber with ragged breaths and a humiliating heat between your thighs.

You can feel the pressure in the cabin shift around you, weighing over your head and bearing down on your shoulders as the ship continues its descent. Your ears pop, and the sound has the awful, paranoid visual of snapping bones and tendons projecting across your mind. You pull a heavy breath into your lungs, holding it there while you try to shift your thoughts onto something less violent. Escaping to fond memories to try and soothe yourself. For a just a moment you pretend that you are not here at all, but back home on Caladan. You can see the ocean. The long stretch of crystalline water, glittering underneath the cast of the balmy sunlight as trawlers coast along the current to capture netfuls of fish, looking like dots along the distant horizon. But it's always the wind that you love the most. Even when the skies are clear, unmarred from the blot of heavy rainclouds, you can always smell the presence of a storm in the air, perfuming the breeze with the earthy musk of petrichor and the fresh salt of the ocean. You can practically feel the brush of lush grass sweeping along your palms, prickling along the sensitive skin with the damp hint of the dew that seeps from the rich ground.

Your reverie is shattered to a million pieces when the metallic hum of the craft's engine reverberates across the walls and floor of the cabin, signaling that it is approaching the ground; preparing to land. Each pulse of the sharp groan sounds like the pound of a nail in a casket. You can just barely focus around the wild patter of your heartbeat in your ears and for a moment you think that you might become ill. You could still feel the warmth of your brother's arms around your body. The way that he had clung to you. Like he was afraid to let go; to watch you slip from his life. In turn you had latched onto him, hesitant to unwind your arms from him, trying to claim the feel and scent of him to memory. But you couldn't have remained that way forever, and when you had pulled away from each other, the corners of his mouth were perked up into a smile. But it was too dull, too forced to be truly happy. You saw something mournful peeking through it, even while he tried to appear composed for your sake. You know how much he opposes of your intended matrimony. You have eavesdropped on the arguments he has shared with your father behind closed doors, attempting to fight for your sake even though it was a lost cause. His fear that you might not survive the ruthlessness of the Harkonnen, his misguided guilt for you taking his intended place. It had made you sorry for him the first time he had confessed that remorse to you. That he felt as though he was the one to blame for your marriage because it was his initial future to wed into the Harkonnen House had he not been born a male. Even with your near constant insistence that it was not his burden to bear, he refused to shed the weight of his self-imposed guilt. Always so damn stubborn.

You had done your best to return his smile, softly squeezing his hand to comfort him and center your mind while the briny Caladan wind swept across the landing pad. But the memory cannot keep your heart from plummeting down to your gut when the craft finally touches the ground, shuddering lightly as it lands with a deep whir.

You're here. You are actually on Giedi Prime now.

There is officially no turning back.

You feel like a ghost when you are drawn to rise, and you hardly register the fact that you haven't moved from your place on the seating to stand on your feet once the ship is still. You feel like an empty vessel, seeing but not registering as everyone moves about the empty space with practiced ease to stand before the hatch. The small unit of four soldiers have all built a formation around you and your own handmaidens, who stand diligently behind you. On any other occasion, they would have lined themselves in front of you all as well. Especially during affairs with the Harkonnen. But this is not a regular affair, and as trivial as it may seem, something as simple as guards posed in front of the Duke's daughter could be viewed as an act of distrust. A blight on your wedding and the union of the houses.

Despite the way that everyone holds themselves; the images of discipline with perfect posture and heads held high, the apprehension that taints the atmosphere could be mistaken for a tangible thing. You could still see glimpses of tension set in the soldiers' shoulders; you could see the rigidity in their necks, anticipation and worry hidden underneath their armor.

Your father should be here too. Your family. But you know that they can't. A matter of ill, convenient timing that required them to board their own ship to leave for Arrakis. The Emperor had passed the fief to the House of Atreides, calling them to abandon their position on Caladan - to abandon your ancestorial home - in favor for the desert and the production of spice. It was an unexpected development, but one that your father would not turn down. As angry as you would like to be, you know how difficult this is for him. You have wanted to blame him for so long. And for a while you did. He's your father. He is supposed to protect you. To keep your happiness and security in mind. But because of the perspective, it is also easy to forget that he is more than just your father, he is also a Duke, with countless lives to defend and shelter. He is an Atreides.

You are an Atreides, and there is no call you do not answer.

You had shared one final look with him on Caladan, underneath the golden rays of the morning sun. You didn't flinch or waver underneath his gaze. You remained firm, and some sort of understanding passed between the both of you, melting away the hatred and betrayal that ran thick in your blood stream. In that split second, you saw so much pass through his eyes: determination, acceptance and something like a bare shred of loss before it was quickly masked by unwavering resolve. A resolve that you too had to master.

A dull jolt sounds out across the dark, metallic space and with it the large hatch of the ship begins to open, exposing a sliver of pale light. Butterflies erupt inside of your gut at the sight of the glow, brushing along your stomach and threatening to overcome you with a rush of nausea. But you hold yourself still, attempting to swallow down the unease but suddenly your throat is bone dry and stuffed with cotton. Perhaps the only thing that keeps you in place is the promise the Feyd-Rautha will not be present at your arrival. A small respite that your father had been able to secure you in the form of a Caladan wedding custom; that your husband should not be able to see you before your ceremony, lest the matrimony fall to bad luck. And in truth it is a tradition. One that has trickled down through the ages from Old Earth, so it was not necessarily done by means of deceit. Even so, the Baron had apparently been less than thrilled by the prospect of keeping you and his nephew separated once on the same soil, though it seems that your father still had managed to persuade him regardless. A small victory for you at least.

Now all you can do is hope that the Baron has stuck to his word.

You watch with ice in your veins and frozen lungs as the ramp continues to lower, yawning open akin to the jaws of an animal that threatens to discard you at the feet of starving beasts like scraps. More of that harsh light flows into the dark of the cabin, spilling over the heads of the soldiers, eating up the floor until it slips over your body, rising up over you until it reaches your eyes like a blaze; threatening to blind you with its intensity. You wince from the brightness of it, blinking rapidly until your eyes adjust to the absence of shadows. The surprised, low hiss that erupts from behind you, tells you that one of your handmaidens has also been taken off guard and blinded.

With the continuation of its descent, it begins to reveal a blackened skyline of buildings that rise like slopping monoliths. Massive structures eat up the ground and cast stretching shadows across the dark platform. It strikes you that the little bit of the visible sky is a pale, as though a flat storm cloud had consumed the heavens. It isn't blue like the skies back home, or even orange or anything. It is simply a white void. It's all monochrome. Devoid of color and life. Everywhere that you look is either a piercing black or a violent white that almost burns to behold, and it is with a quick, almost hesitant inspection downward that you discover that the emerald hue of your silk dress has turned a shade of a deep smoky black from the strange illumination.

But you don't get time to dwell on the discovery for long before the ramp meets the ground with a dull groan. It might as well as be a death sentence. You just barely catch sight of the of the figures that are lined along the platform, silently waiting for you to step out into the light. In your stupor, you have noticed that the number of Harkonnen that wait for your exit is a rather small group. It is not a massive procession with banners or celebration; there is no intrigued crowd of citizens awaiting to evaluate you. No more than five Harkonnen stand out on the platform, focusing on you with the distance the separates your parties with clasped hands and heads held high. The Baron it seems, holds no excitement for your arrival and has made no effort to welcome you on Giedi Prime. The message has been made clear of what he thinks of this union. Of you.

The bastard.

The world has gone hush. Dead silent as everyone awaits your move. And it is with that thought suddenly that you realize that everyone is waiting for you to take action. You are no longer expected to follow. You aren't allowed the crutch of following after your father or Lady Jessica's footsteps. They aren't here to guide you anymore. You steel yourself with a deep breath, drawing up your shoulders as you will yourself to step forward. Your legs are suddenly heavy like they have been strapped down with boulders and iron, but you force them into a stride regardless. Even when each move forward feels like a motion closer to your demise.

You can hear the gentle clink of your Handmaidens heels as they dutifully trail after you. It gives you some comfort, no matter how small, that you have some familiar faces amongst you. That you aren't completely alone here.

Still, you try to distract yourself. And in some mad scramble, your mind latches onto some old passage that you had read back on Caladan during one of your distant studies. It has you daring to sneak a few glances upward to the pale sky in between your focus forward, squinting through the glare, ignoring the way that the delicate chained veil draped across your face nudges against your eyelashes in your search for the sun. You had heard of its description countless times, seen holograms of it before, but none of them had managed to do the true thing honesty. In its blaze, it is claimed to cast an infrared shine which explains the bleak, washout coloration of the planet. But seeing the source of said lighting was entirely different. You do your best not to openly gawk at. To not stare at it for too long. The last thing that you want is to go blind; your fortune is terrible enough as is. But you're unable to stop yourself from stealing fleeting peeks at the star. If you didn't know any better, you could have mistaken it for a sort of eclipse. It looks like a black hole has torn through the heavens, gaping like an open wound, and you would have no idea that it was burning if not for the streams of light radiating from its rounded edges like a halo.

Even with the remnants of your hatred smoldering through your body and turning your muscles rigid, you can't deny that there is a kind of odd beauty about the star. It's strange to see something that you had learned about so many years ago, and there is some detached part of you that has not fully accepted that you are even truly here. That small piece is still safely tucked away on Caladan, admiring as the sea meets the cliffside in a rolling crest of foam and froth.

But that still is not enough to keep you from your reality.

You all come to a unanimous halt, standing to leave a decent breadth between you and the Harkonnen. You have heard many things of the Baron of Giedi Prime. His guile. His hedonism. Whispers among the houses claimed him to be a gargantuan man. Someone whose intensity and mannerisms alone command attention and make men cower. The Baron, you quickly deduce, is not here. It seems that he has sent his advisors and servants in his stead. Whether that be from arrogance or indolence, or hatred, you are not sure.

The man who stands at the in the center of the greeting committee holds himself with an air of importance. Back straight and hands clasped as he analyzes your small party. He is awfully pallid, just as his other companions are, a product of being denied ultraviolet rays that could be found in your planets own sun. The hulking black star cradled in the sky above you is hardly able to provide a proper tan it seems. The stark, unforgiving light casted from the solar body bathes you all in a layer of an achromatic hue, and it glints across the rounded skin of his bare scalp. They are all bald, you have easily observed, and you can just faintly recall reading a chapter in regard to Harkonnen beauty standards. Their proclivity to remove every ounce of hair from their bodies as a sign of cleanliness and purity; the means to extract themselves from their meek beginnings and perhaps, to a degree, a way to separate themselves from humanity. But the dark vertical strip that stretches across the expanse of his bottom lip signifies his position as a Mentat.

"Lady Atreides," the Harkonnen advisor greets, voice deceptively placid and monotone. "We are grateful for your arrival. I trust that the trip was respectable." His words are kind, but the expression on his face is decidedly neutral. There is something about him that instantly unnerves you. Be it the unrushed nature of his mannerisms or the sly look in his eyes, you are not sure, but he sets you on edge.

You force yourself to speak, calming your features into something just as blank and fixed as his own. "It was fair," you answer truthfully, before pointedly scanning the surrounding area. "It is a beautiful planet." A lie is you have ever said one, and the Mentat does not appear to be ignorant to your sad attempt at charm. Even with the unmoved aura that radiates from him, you are sure that you spotted a small glimmer of amusement pass through the dark of his eyes.

"I am pleased you think so," he replies easily. "In any case, I have my orders to deliver you to the Baron as soon as possible. An event is being held in the honor of your union to the na-Baron. You shall not want to miss it."

The confession feels as though it has doused you with ice water, but you refuse to show your distress. You're not stupid. You know that at some point, you would have to face the Baron. You were just hoping that it would not have been so soon. You should have known better, you suppose, that the Baron would give you single moment of reprieve once on his planet, and now you are suddenly not so sure that you want to have to attend a celebration of any sort.

"Wonderful," you force a smile, one as polite you can manage while making sure to keep your voice gentle and inviting.

"Leave your soldiers here. They won't be necessary."

The request leaves you troubled. For a moment you stand there silently, a little dumbly even. That last thing you want to do is leave your only form of proper protection outside on an unfamiliar world. Especially one as hostile and deceitful as Giedi Prime. But you do not have many options here. You are in no true form of power. You are not yet married to the na-Baron, you are lightyears away from your own planet - which doesn't belong to your family anymore by the Emperor's decree - and your father must be on Arrakis by now; even farther away. You are now the one who dictates your fate and survival, and although promised to the na-Baron, your life is still not secured. You must be tactful.

You turn your head to look over your shoulder at the soldiers who diligently stand behind you and your handmaidens. Your focus meets the unwavering stare of the lieutenant; his hardened countenance, his lips pressed into a firm line. The nod you give him is subtle, but it is still a command, and with it, he and his men silently step back.

When you return your attention back on the Mentat it is difficult to tell if he is pleased or not with how blank he keeps his features. It's unnerving but then he spins on his heels without any more fanfare and his fellow Harkonnen are quick to shadow him. Hesitation bears heavy in your gut, but even with your instinct telling you to run; to flee, you steel yourself. Drawing in a deep breath to clear your mind, you follow.

You are not sure what you had expected to find when you had allowed the Mentat to lead you. Some wild, senseless part of you feared that he may have taken you to your death. Led you to a trap to be slaughtered. But no dagger has been raised to your chest. He has not summoned soldiers from the shadows to pull you away and toss you into a tomb. Or maybe in a way he has.

The doorway that you stand before is daunting. Affixed in front of you like a rival. It is such a trivial, ordinary thing. You have passed through thresholds millions of times in your years, twisted knobs and guided doors open to pass through them. But suddenly, such a mundane thing seems to stand out like a hazardous sign - a bad omen. You know who lies beyond it. Who you must face. Now your bravery threatens to allude you. To leave you abandoned and flailing. It does not help that your handmaidens had been dismissed for you. Guided away by Harkonnen servants, and when you had asked the Mentat as to where they were being taken, what intentions lie ahead for them, he didn't answer. His silence on the matter has left you disturbed; fueled your mind to wonder and theorize about the worst. That they may be harmed.

He stands next to you now, just as silent as before, watching you expectedly.

No. You cannot flounder here. You cannot cower or cry. Your duty - your lineage will not allow it.

With a newfound determination, you step forward with your chin raised proudly. Activated by the motion, the dark door slips open, beckoning you enter, and you answer the invitation without wavering. The Mentat doesn't follow after you, but you hardly pay that any mind, too focused on analyzing the room that you now stand in. The space is open and capacious, and you spot a line of servant girls rowed up to the right with their backs against the wall. They don't glance up when you look at them, even though you can tell that they are aware of your presence. They remain silent, eyes trained on the floor and posture rigid. There is fear in them.

As if drawn by a magnetic pull, you attention leaves them to wander to the opposite end of the room. His back is facing you, but even then, you are certain that all of the stories you have heard of him will not prepare you for this moment. Even as he perches - lounges on the support of his seat from fully across the room, his presence commands your attention. The order that his being silently instructs is only amplified by the cool, harsh light that pours down around him from the viewing window, highlighting his shape as he sits like a gargoyle poised. The gossip was true, it seems, he is a corpulent man and shares the same ashen complexation as the other Harkonnen that you have seen thus far. And suddenly as curiosity burns in you to see the face of the person who has harmed so many, who has left his blight on the galaxy.

"Are you joining me, or are you intent on staying in the shadows?"

The voice is so rough and crude that it shocks you, prickling over your skin with the all the coarseness of sandpaper, and you just barely refrain from showing your displeasure at its harshness. It's graveled as it passes into your ears, but it seizes one's attention instantly, causing the hairs scattered along your body and at the nape of your neck to stand on end. Still you move forward, by the impulse of your own intrigue or the authoritative quality of his voice, you aren't certain, but you cross the breadth that separates you all the same. Each step reveals more of his face to you. The slope of his nose, the crow's feet that cluster around the corners of his eyes, the prominent frown that weighs upon his face. He doesn't spare you a glance as you stop beside him; intently focused on what lies outside of the balcony.

"Lord Baron," you greet, nodding your head down and bending your knees in a curtsy.

His hand raises up in a manner than almost seems reprimanding, and it causes you to freeze still, staring at those fingers like he might mean to strike you. But the curl of them is far too lax to deliver a proper blow and it is enough to give you some relief.

"There is no need for formalities, " he speaks. Then his stare is on you: flaying you open, evaluating, weighing, searching your worth. But underneath the judgement of someone like him, you cannot waver. "We are family now, are we not?"

The mere implication has you fighting off the urge to shudder in disgust. Instead, you straighten yourself and manage a polite smile. Or you hope that it seems polite at least. Thankfully, he doesn't wait for your answer. He casts a brief glance to the vacant chair close you, and you need no verbal instruction on what he wants, even though he still gives it.

"Sit," he offers. Commands really.

It pains you to comply, to follow the will of the man that you have been guided to resent since you realized consciousness, no matter how small the order, but you swallow your pride.

Carefully you turn on your feet, being mindful not to nudge the small table that is posted beside the chair, and you make note of the pair of theater binoculars that are displayed on the counter, waiting to be used. Gathering the light pull of your skirt to sit without crumbling the fabric, you allow yourself to recline in the seat and try to ignore how close you are to the Baron. But you suppose that you should learn to come to terms with it. He will be a permanent fixture in your life, whether you like it or not. Though it does not make it any easier to swallow down the bitter taste of loathing on your tongue. Desperate for a distraction your eyes are quick to look out past the boarders of the balcony and the sight that greets you latches onto your focus instantly. It is a wonder how you had even managed to miss the view upon your entrance. But in your defense, you were a little preoccupied. Now you are hardly able to look away. The sheer mass of the structure leaves you captivated. Great, sweeping, walls rise; climbing up towards the blank heavens with rows of seats secured between the hulking barriers. Pale, shifting shapes roar and cheer inside the stands in a fervent display of excitement and anticipation. People you quickly realize. All of them chanting loudly. But the distortion their voices all layered up into a chaotic stream makes it difficult to understand it. The walls that hold them and the very room you sit in encircle a massive plot of bare earth. It is an arena.

You have seen a few of them in your lifetime. Visited the old coliseums on Caladan. The same ones that your very ancestors had fought wild bulls in. You walked along the ancient, stone walls and pillars, cupped the golden sand within your palm and allowed it to run through your fingers. But the sheer scale of this structure is mindboggling and the number of people that have all massed together to bear witness to its exhibition is even greater. The Mentat had promised you a celebration in the honor of your marriage, and you had been left to wonder what that said celebration may have been. But now you have your answer. There is the evidence of a ferocious fight having taken place in the arena. The face of the white sand bellow has been disturbed. Blemished and smudged by footprints and the clear sign of a struggle; that the fighters had rolled along the ground and tussled for their breath. But even more damning is the dark stains that are streaked and pooled along the course earth. Even with the coloration altered black by the dark sun above, you know that it is blood.

"A gladiator fight," you conclude aloud, and there is even an edge of scornful humor on your tone. "If you truly wanted a spectacle, you could have me thrown down there. I'm sure your people would love to watch an Atreides be slaughtered." You are not sure where the comment comes from. A sudden burst of confidence or perhaps defiance. You regret your snark as soon as you register the words, but it is too late for apologies now. You simply squeeze your clasped hands together tighter, even while your head is held high. A raspy, amused sound erupts from beside you, like air escaping a puncture, and you just vaguely realize that it is a chuckle. The Baron is laughing even as the smile hardly reaches his face. It is a small sound. Barely even qualifying as a laugh, but it eases you still.

"A spectacle indeed." He says it as though he is in on a secret that you are not privy to. Part of a joke you might never know, and it immediately snuffs out the small sense of composure that you had achieved. "But I have no use for you dead."

"Then what use do you have of me?" You pry.

He hums, a hushed, guttural sound. "Do you know why you are to be married to my nephew?"

The question gives you pause. There are many duties that you are required to perform in the union with the na-Baron. It is a political alliance first and foremost. A joining of two rival houses, meant to put to rest the animosity that has burned between you both for over 10,000 years. But it is also much more than that. You are to give him an heir as well, the continuation of his lineage. But the Harkonnen are not the only ones who intend for you to produce a child: the Bene Gesserit also demand a progeny of your union (though the Baron must remain ignorant to that design). It is why your mother had been sent the Duke in the first place, to correct Lady Jessica's mistake and birth a daughter. To birth you. So much is dependent on this marriage to flourish. Much that you yourself probably are not even privy to, but it is your duty to perform regardless. If you fail, your family name will forever be smeared and the possibility of the Kwisatz Haderach may be lost to eternity. And you will not allow your mother's death to be in vain.

"Yes."

Once more he turns his head to face you and his eyes glint with a deadly intensity. "Then you know of your purpose. "

It is a plain sentence, but it speaks volumes in its simplicity and its intent is not lost on you. It is a warning. A set of instructions that you are meant to follow. Keep your head down, your mouth shut and fulfil your function as promised and you may make it out of this arrangement unscathed. It has anger flaring in the pit of your stomach, prickling over your skin and heating up your face. The desire to say something in defense of yourself rises up high, but you know that you must hold your tongue. You are sure that he can see your opposition in your eyes as much as you try to control it, but he does not mention it. His vision roves over your visage like he is studying you and your reactions, in search of weakness.

"Now watch." He says and returns his attention back to the bloodied sand beneath.

Your eyebrows furrow, openly showing you confusion. What the Baron desires you to see, you don't know. You can hardly imagine what he has in store for you but given the nature of the arena and the Baron himself, it surely won't bode well for you. You don't dare to question him or ask that he elaborate. Your mouth remains fixed shut as you survey the colosseum with your breath locked within your lungs. An unwanted type of anticipation prickles at your fingertips and toes; spurred on by the way that the crowd rouses into a frenzy and the vibrations of their riotous cries strike across the atmosphere. The sound of their shouting spikes until it is thunderous, and you can hear the blunt sound of their fists beating against the stadium like a hammer striking down on an iron nail. Despite the many voices overlapping and yelling to be heard of the others, somehow in their clamoring, their words have become clearer. And it is not just words that they are spouting. It is a name.

Feyd-Rautha.

You are certain that your lungs cease to function. That they die inside your chest while you still live. The na-Baron is going to fight. You're going to see him. Despite wanting to slip your eyes closed, your body betrays you, leading you to scour along the dark sweeping walls of the arena in a terrified search that does not stop until your vision lands on what looks to be a massive entrance built into the bordering wall of the colosseum. Your heart flutters like a startled bird, quivering wildly like a pair of wings would. "I thought my father said that we would not see each other before the wedding?"

"He said that he could not look at you. But there was no discussion of you witnessing him," the Baron answers.

You do not know why the prospect of it makes you shift uncomfortably in your seat, wishing that you could sink into the cushion and vanish. Perhaps it's because seeing him would truly sink the severity of your new reality in. There would truly be no avoiding it once you do. All you can think of is all of the rumors and gossip that you had heard over the many years. The horrible tales of a psychopath. A man unhinged. No better than a rabid dog on a frayed rope. People spoke of a remorseless monster that delighted in blood and was unflinching in delivering death. Other's claimed that his appearance is just as terrifying as his actions. That he's gaunt and hideous to behold with awful, jagged teeth and bloodshot eyes.

That is not a truth that you are ready to face, and your desire to remain ignorant to the possibility of his unsightly features burns in your gut. You are so caught up in your own anxieties that you hardly register the blaring of the announcer's voice sounding across the stadium, warbling over the sound system to praise and declare the arrival of the man who you have been dreading. You're entirely conflicted; transfixed as the entrance on the far end of the arena begins to slip open, even though your instincts tell you to turn your focus elsewhere. The floor, your hands, the crazed crowd. Anything. But is like watching a great fire or a calamity. The entire time your consciousness warns you not to look, but you are unable to. It is almost as if you have been casted under a horrible spell. Bewitched to see him even though you don't wish to.

You stare helplessly at the threshold of the arena, and for a moment you wonder if it might be the entrance to the underworld instead. A dark, consuming void for a demon to come crawling out of. But this demon does not crawl. He marches.

A figure strides out from the gateway wielding two recurved blades and the crowd erupts in an exhilarated cry. From the distance and height, you are unable to discern his features, but the way that he carries himself is already more than enough to give insight to his personality. His steps are long, eating up the ground in quick, measured paces; his shoulders are raised and straight, exuding pride. It's the saunter of someone confident in themselves and their abilities. Someone who is not just in their element but basking in it. He raises an arm high in the air, brandishing his fist and the weapon he clutches in it to address the masses, pointing the tip of the blade to sky as it erupts in a flurry of strange fireworks that burst and flourish like blots of heavy ink. The crowd punch their own arms up in turn and shout his name like an impassioned prayer.

The apprehension chilling your chest begins to thaw, giving way to a strange sort of curiosity and before you know it, you're reaching for the theater binoculars placed on the table beside you. Anticipation thrums in your veins, nearly making your fingers shake around your grip of the handle as you lift the device up to your face, lining it up to peer into the eyepieces. It takes a moment for your brain to process what it is seeing. Who it's seeing. It's surreal how his once distant, blurred features have become clear and amplified underneath the optics of the binoculars. The familiarity of him strikes you like an unforgiving wave despite never having met him before. But everything, from his gait and the shape of his face seems as though you have gazed upon it a thousand times, ran your fingertips across the rise of his cheek bones and the plains of his face even though you haven't. The familiarity terrifies you, but it also keeps your attention firmly locked onto him.

What catches your attention first are his eyes. It is difficult to tell their shade from underneath the monochrome emittance of the sun - they seem dark but some buried, distant instinct whispers that they're truly blue. A light shade akin the ocean, glittering in shades of pale cerulean and teal. It strikes you how they burn with a calculated excitement. A dangerous, fervid type of delight as he gauges the crowd with rapt attention. Even with the intense light bathing most of the scenery shades of white you know that the pale complexion of his skin is natural. Paired with the sharp angles that create his features it makes him seem as though he could have been cut from marble; a statue gifted with life and will. His lips, you shamelessly notice, are plush, and are set into a soft pout.

Even with resentment for the Harkonnen still fueling your heartbeat you're unable to deny that the stories and claims that you had heard about his appearance were awful exaggerations. Absolute lies. You don't want to admit it, but there is a kind of beauty about him. Not one that you would have found on your home planet, but he's quite attractive in a way that is almost lethal. It strikes you in a way that it shouldn't.

You continue to watch him as he comes to halt in the center of the arena, twisting his feet in a circle to look upon every section of the crowd before facing the direction of the balcony. He begins to lower himself to the ground, resting a single knee onto the sand in a sort of bow. All the while his eyes are trained upward, dangerously close to where you sit and you know that he's looking towards the Baron, kneeling to show his respects. All you can do is pray that he will pay your presence no mind. That he won't care enough to acknowledge you.

It seems that the universe has no desire to answer your prayers this day.

His dark focus flickers onto you so suddenly that you hardly have time to register it. As your eyes meet through the glass of the device, you suddenly feel as though you have been laid bare. The deafening cries of the masses fade down into a distant hum as all of your focus centers down onto him. You've never felt so exposed in your life. Like all of your every part of you has been spread open and seen; the darkest facets of you are held forward. It's like he's actually seeing you somehow. Peering at you through the distance that keeps you apart. But it's impossible for him to truly make out your features underneath the guise of the decorative chains that drapes over your face. He can't properly see you from your place this high. Still it feels as if he is looking directly at you, past the distortion of the distance and the cover of your veil and peering into your soul.

You drop the pair of binoculars away from your face, severing the image of his focused gaze and the odd connection that had been created. Still you can't drop your attention from his figure down in the arena, but the loss of the close, magnified image of the device offers you some type of reprieve. He had felt too close, too near with their usage and the distance helps to soothe you. And with your regular vision provided to you, you are able to notice the other entrances posted along the walls are opening.

The na-Baron realizes this as well. His head cocks in the direction of the open threshold to his far left, rising up from his crouched stance to properly assess it, eyes trained on the dark gapping gateway as a man ambles out from the shadows. Two others emerge from separate doorways on opposite sides of the colosseum, and Feyd-Rautha shifts his body to appraise them both in their slow approach. The three of them all but shamble towards the na-Baron, feet dragging lethargically across the sand like they caught under a drunken stupor. The realization dawns on you easily, and you are unable to stop yourself from turning to face the Baron with bewildered scowl. "They're drugged?" You accuse, sparing no judgement in your tone.

"We cannot risk the safety of the na-Baron," he explains without shame, and draws a deep drag from a smoking pipe clutched within his hand. "Measures must be taken."

You want to argue. But what use would that be? There is not an ounce of remorse or shame in his body. You've known this for years; you didn't have to meet him to realize that. You have heard countless tales of the Harkonnen's selfishness and deceit, so it should be no surprise that they're underhanded enough to rig a fight to the death in their favor. That they couldn't even do their slaves and prisoners the respect of dying in a fair fight. And the na-Baron stands so proudly in the center of that ring, holding himself high as though the scales have not been tipped in his favor. You knew that you were to wed a sadist. A violent, venomous man. It was a shame that you had to marry one that is also dishonorable.

In the prisoners' approach, blackened figures seem to materialize from the walls of the arena looking like creatures out of a twisted fable. There is a great number of them, six you believe, if your hasty count does not fail you, all clad in a dark skintight material. But even more strangely are the horned headdresses that they all wear; it extends over their countenances to make them appear faceless and inhuman. They vigilantly wander along the border of the arena, and some even dare to skulk close to the slaves as they near the na-Baron, wielding some sort of weapon within their hands like they are prepared to strike the fighters if necessary. They must be referees of some sort, but their costumes make them look like dark spirits instead.

This game truly is devised in Feyd-Rautha's favor.

The gladiator-slave that approaches from the left is the closest, covering the distance that separates him and the na-Baron quickly despite being lamed by the hinderance of drugs. With the raucous roar of the crowd resonating across the air, the suspense is palpable, hanging heavy and almost painful like a breath that has been held for too long and the people are desperate for release. You can't help the way that you watch expectantly, holding onto the handle of the binoculars like it might help keep you grounded while you observe Feyd-Rautha from the safety of your perch.

He faces the approaching fighter. And for a moment you think that he is going to make the man hobble to over to him entirely, too cruel or perhaps even lazy to meet his competitor head on. But when the fighter brandishes his sword in an overreaching arch Feyd lunges forward on spry feet, cutting up the small remaining bit of distance with two massive strides and blocks the blade with his own. The arc that the prisoner had raised his weapon in was far too high. It left his most vital organs exposed to be gutted, and the blink of an eye the na-Baron takes the opening, deftly shoving the tip of his opposing weapon into the man's stomach and driving it in deep. The fighter's body goes limp near instantly, the hand holding his weapon slackens and when Feyd-Rautha pulls his sword from his opponent's stomach, he stumbles back on weak legs before tipping back onto the sand, lying belly up in a dead weight to bleed out on the ground.

You have heard of death all your life. Soldiers of your house have shared their stories of gore and anguish to you before. The horrors of the battlefield. And you yourself are no stranger to blood and bruises, having been trained by the best of your father's ranks and even Lady Jessica herself in the ways of fighting and hand to hand combat. Your teachings were meant for survival. Defense. But this is senseless murder set in the guise of entertainment. Cruelty.

Feyd-Rautha does not share the sentiment. He twists around to face the remaining fighters, mouth twisted into a feral snarl, muscles tense, ready to deliver another killing blow. He is clearly on some type of rush after claiming his first kill and his eyes dart between the pair of gladiators, gauging which one to attack first. Both of the prisoners have synced their steps as best as they can, with one coming towards the na-Baron from the front while the other nears from the back, intending to slay him together.

But Feyd does not appear to be stressed by the prospect in the slightest, in fact you are sure that even from your elevated height you can still make out the presence of a smile on his lips. Delighted and fueled by the rush of adrenaline and the hope of slaughter. He evaluates them both carefully, waiting them out. He doesn't have to wait long though, because suddenly the one who stands behind is rushing towards him in a move that is entirely too impatient, the lapse in judgement probably brought on by the influence of the substance coursing through his veins. The other fighter is still too far from Feyd to offer any assistance, making them both fail in their effort to overwhelm him and attack at once. The na-Baron deflects the strike of the prisoner's sword easily, shoving the man back with the union of their blades to create enough space to deliver a harsh bone rattling kick to the man's bare chest. He stumbles back a few feet, dust spraying in his flounder as he struggles to collect himself from the soiled earth.

Feyd doesn't have time to strike him down while he is vulnerable, because the second fighter finally reaches him, dipping his body low with the intent to strike his sword into the na-Baron's unguarded back, aimed for the spine. But Feyd is unsurprised by the attack; smooth and effortless in his movements as he rotates around on his feet to slip from the blades course and with the glint of silver the man's throat is sliced as he passes the na-Baron. You hardly would have realized that his neck had been cut at all if not for the way that rivulets of black have begun to pour from the wound, slipping down the pale hue of his skin and dripping to the bleached sand below before he collapses.

The crowd somehow manages to erupt with even more passion to goad their na-Baron on dispatching the last man. But Feyd doesn't move on prisoner while he's still down on the ground, up righting himself on sluggish, weak knees. It is hard to stomach the sight of it, and you're certain that you can feel the oily, distant impression of nausea bubbling in your stomach. It urges you to look away, but you can't. You are frozen still. Locked into place as you watch Feyd pace around the arena like a predator stalking the bars of its enclosure. He's impatient in his wait for the fighter to finally get up on his feet, and you find yourself a little disbelieving that he would even allow the prisoner that little bit of respect, instead of slaying him while he was down and unable to properly defend himself. Maybe there is some honor in him after all. It's buried and diluted, but it seems there may be a shred of it still.

The gladiator finally raises himself to his feet, spreading his legs wide to distribute his weight between his feeble legs. You can see resolve slip across the man's body, straightening his shoulders as best as he can to secure the grip he has on his weapon. But it only prompts more of that amusement to flicker over Feyd's features before he springs towards his opponent. They meet in the clash of lethal blades, and their bodies twist and move like well-oiled machines. Even being drugged and exhausted, the prisoner's movements are powerful and practiced, but you doubt that it will be much of a match for Feyd. He has too many aspects in his favor. The game has fully been fabricated for his victory. But even with that in mind, you would be foolish not to acknowledge the way that the na-Baron uses his body. It is truly a sight - hypnotic almost. The slices he takes with his sword and the strikes that he bares down at his rival are tight. Swift, calculated blows that are charged with raw strength. He acts with pure, practiced confidence. It's clear that the art of combat comes as easily as breathing to him; second nature. The sight of him dodging and deflecting jabs underneath the extreme shine of the dim sun is an impressive display, and you can't help but wonder how well he would fair under the pressure of a fight with real stakes.

Maybe it was the controlled vehemence of his maneuvers and how skillfully he brandishes his blade, but you think that he would thrive.

The gladiator is still alive, outlasting all of his fellow prisoners and it's honestly a wonder that he has made it this far. But you don't miss the casual way that Feyd holds himself, the security in the slices he delivers and how easily he dodges and moves around his opponent. Often dipping low into the man's space to nick his flesh with small, annoying cuts before dancing out of his field of reach. He's playing with him. Drawing out the fight like a bored cat toying with a wounded mouse. You can see the hope and determination dying in the gladiator with each passing second; it melts from his limbs, giving way to a venomous, mindless agitation. It makes him sloppy.

He leaps at Feyd with little thought, desperate to get a decent lick in but the timing is once again ill and his body too open. The mistake does not go ignored and the na-Baron uses the mishap to sweep his opponents legs out from underneath him. And curiously, he casts one of his blades aside, banishing it to the sand. But you don't have to wonder for long before his hand strikes out like a serpent to grip ahold of the fighter's hair, using the leverage he has on the sluggish prisoner's head to harshly force him down and secure him on his knees. You can see the way that the man's face twists into a pained grimace, teeth gnashed together to fight off his agony as he pants raggedly, chest rising and falling with labored breaths. Feyd stands behind him like some sort of figure of death. A creature sent to drag weary, tortured souls to their end.

You see the gladiators loose grip twitch around the handle of his sword, struggling to build up the last remaining scraps of his energy to swing the blade back and drive into the na-Baron's ribcage. But he doesn't have time to deliver the blow. Feyd raises his own weapon, hitching his arm back to build up tension in his hold. In that exact moment, you are certain that your eyes meet. That somehow, between the distance, his gaze reaches your own, focused in its intent like he is looking for your approval, like he is gifting you a sacrifice in your honor. You hardly have time to think of the implications of it before he drives the sword forward into the back of his victim's neck, severing the man's spinal cord and shoving it forward until the tip of the blade peeks through his throat. It is a horrid display of brutality. The violent sight almost forces a gasp from you, and you can feel your body shudder at the presentation of it. Your mind has long since gone blank, too rattled and shocked to form a coherent thought and the frenzied way the masses arise and breakout into a rapturous applause fills you brain like a haze with the wicked, rhythmic chanting of his name.

He extracts the blade from the captive's body, spraying a dark splatter of blood across the pale sand with the pull and lifts the gore-soaked weapon up into the air in a silent claim of his victory.

"Is he everything you had imagined?"

The Baron's course timbre breaks you from your daze. Your head swivels to him like a doll, but the challenge proposed in his tone rouses your focus to the center. He wants you to be afraid. To shy away from his nephew. Why you aren't sure. Perhaps he simply enjoys the idea of an Atreides cowering, but you will give him no such pleasure. You harden your gaze before you speak next, making sure to project your resolve clearly when you answer.

"He's perfect." It scares you because it doesn't even feel like a lie. It leaves your tongue too easily, like the compliment belonged there. Like your body and soul held it as a truth that you aren't ready to accept, and you're not sure how to cope with that. But what you say next surprises you even more.

"I want to meet him."

A part of you had hoped that the Baron would refuse your request. That he would stick to firm to your father's traditions and prohibit you from seeing the na-Baron until the wedding ceremony. But you know better than to think that he would honor or be controlled by old superstitions. All too soon you find yourself being led by timid servant who wordlessly guides you deep into the inner depths of the arena. The look that the Baron had spared you before you left had been unsettling and sharp, and it made you wonder if you have agreed to go to your own execution. In your descent, the rabid cries of the masses fade into a distant warble, and with it, the corridors become dim and chilled like the walls of a forgotten crypt. The caution in your gut churns with that treacherous sense of anticipation and you struggle to concentrate past the separation in your emotions. You're not sure if you should be fearful or intrigued and it leaves you caught between a confusing sort of purgatory.

The little bit of suspense hanging over you reminds you of when you used to dream about meeting him when you were both young. Nearly longed for it even, when you'd lose yourself to childish flights of fancy and daydreamed of love and adoration. It scares you to think that the sense of pining you had once entertained for him may have never truly gone away. Even with the stories of his brutish conquests, a blemish on your naive yearning. A stain of red; soaked with the scent of iron and viscera.

The sight of his violent display down in the arena seemed to confirm all of the horrid rumors that you have heard throughout the years. His indifference towards death, how casually he is able to take a life. It should all disgust you. And to a degree it does. It coats your tongue with something acetous and tart. It makes a shiver threaten to tremble down your spine. But as much as you wish to hide from it, you can't deny that he intrigues you. That the sight of him gazing upon you from the ashen sands of the colosseum like you were an ambiguity that he desired to unravel made your body thrum. You wonder if he would look at you so openly in the same way once you are both on even ground. Or if perhaps, some pathetic, traitorous part of you had simply imagined it.

The servant stops suddenly before a wide threshold, forcing you to still in your tracks to watch as she steps to the side and bows silently without so much as meeting your eyes. And then she leaves, turning sharply on her feet with the gentle echo of her feet pattering along the obsidian floor while she skitters away.

You're on your own now.

You're not sure what you will find when you cross this barrier: pain, misery . . . pleasure. A primordial type of anxiousness wells up inside of you, screaming at you to turn heel and run. You could do so easily. Escape these dismal, tenebrous chambers before he even realizes that you're here. But you're quick to squash that wild impulse. It is a dangerous thing to entertain. You must eliminate that urge all together. You're not an animal. You are an Atreides. A Bene Gesserit. You have survived the Gom Jabbar. You passed the test. And you will survive this.

With no further hesitation you step forward, focusing on sound of your dress whispering over the floor as a means to center yourself. As soon as you cross the threshold it opens up into a massive space, but the shadows are so thick and vast here that it is difficult to see where the walls truly begin or end. A pair of servant girls stand in the corner, just as rigid and silent as the others that you've seen so far, standing with their backs to the wall like they mean to merge into the shadows and hide. The only light to speak of pours from the ceiling, broadening in its descent to encapsulate the massive round pool that sits in the center of the room like a spotlight. And there, lounging along the far end of the bath with his arms draped along the border, relaxed in the murky, steaming water, is the na-Baron.

When your eyes meet you have to wonder if this is what prey feels like when locked within the gaze of a wolf; poised to lunge and jaws longing to bite. The way that he had gazed upon you in the arena had been appraising and seeking. Like he was sizing you up and searching for your favor all at once. But something in his stare has shifted since then and dipped into something searing and stifling, and it serves as an obtrusive reminder of who you've willingly confined yourself alone with. But you're unable to stop yourself from admiring him as he does to you. Roving your examination over his face, and you find your attention captivated there. The glow of the florescent lighting reveals a delicate cream undertone in his skin, and the light blush in his lips that had been hidden outside, stunted by the black sun. It breathes a sense of life into him, and nearly separates him from the otherworldly image that had been crafted by the violence he had basked in earlier.

"You must be lost."

The voice that speaks abruptly is husky and inflected with an accented lilt that blends into the rasp of it. It buzzes over your skin, and you can feel it murmur across your fingertips, but it is not enough to distract you from the confusion that sparks in you from the comment. He must notice the perplexed look that crosses your face because you don't even get time to ask him for clarification before he speaks next. "We're not to see each other. Or was that a lie?"

If you didn't know any better, you would have thought that he sounds insulted. Like the mere suggestion of you not meeting each other before the wedding had been a great offence. But surely it simply came from a place of ego and not genuine rejection or hurt. That would require affection. And that is an emotion that you're certain the na-Baron is incapable of. Still, regardless of if he truly harbors a sense of fondness for you are not, keeping this relationship as cordial as possible is in your best interest for both of your sakes.

"It wasn't a lie," you finally answer, clasping your hands together in front of yourself. "But I wanted to congratulate you on your win. . . And to finally see the man that I am intended to marry." The final admittance comes out somewhat reluctantly. But it catches his attention still. You can see the intrigue openly flit through his eyes and he tilts his head while he surveys your from across the room in a curious manner.

"And what do you think?"

You are not sure if the question is in reference to himself or his performance in the arena. Either way, your answer still stands. Though you find yourself reluctant to reveal it, even while it burns in your throat. But the way that the na-Baron watches you with a glimmer of restrained vehemence in his heavy stare almost rips the truth from the depths of your chest. But your eyes pointedly flicker back over to the servants in the corner before moving back over to the na-Baron. The question hangs heavy in the air, silently exchanged between the two of you.

"Leave us," he dismisses firmly, without removing his gaze from you. They nearly spring forward on their feet, vision casted down on the floor as they cross the room and vanish past the threshold like a pair of phantoms. You catch the subtle nod of his head as he watches you, and it is hard to tell if it is done with disinterest or an air of mocking. "There. You may speak freely now."

You don't hold in your answer now. "Disappointed," you say firmly, and you're thankful that your voice comes out stronger than you feel. A palpable shift rushes over the room. It is frigid. Moving over the blackened walls like a cold front and seeping into your bones; brought on by the subtle vexation that shifts across his features. You can see the muscles along his shoulders and the plains of his chest ripple underneath his pallid skin, tensing in his ire. It has you stuck in place like the bottoms of your feet have been glued to the floor. It doesn't feel like you're in a room with a man but sharing the space with a hunter that has its teeth and claws poised to slice. But you know that you can't cower. Not with men like him. If you give him and inch, he'll take a mile. And if you are going to make it out of this arrangement alive, you're going to have to try to stand on even ground. "That fight. It was supposed to be in my honor. But it isn't much of a victory if your opponents are impaired with drugs."

"It was out of my hands," comes his answer. It nearly could have been overtly defensive if he hadn't delivered it so steadily and direct. It's a knee jerk reaction to assume that he is lying. It has been instilled in you since birth to be wary of the Harkonnen and their words. And perhaps it is simply a dangerous form of hope, but the intuition in your gut promises you that he is telling the truth. But even then, it is difficult to find forgiveness.

"And you fought anyway."

"Careful." His voice cuts across the atmosphere like a sharp growl. He bares his teeth with the warning, letting you catch a glimpse of that dark snarl and for a moment your mind treacherously imagines what it would be like to feel the sharpness of it grazing along your skin. "I've taken tongues for less."

The threat does not strike fear in you like it should have. Like you expected it to. The longer you spend in Feyd-Rautha's presence, the more that your initial caution begins to ebb away. For better or for worse, confidence seeps in to take its place. You shock yourself for the second time today by moving towards him instead of backing away like someone with common sense would. Though if you're being honest with yourself, you have always flirted with danger. The temptation towards things that you should not want has always taken you to places not meant for you, and it is a trait that your family and teachers alike had struggled to dissuade. That you yourself have always fought. But you can't resist the urge to close the distance between you and him, following after it blindly like you're being tugged along by an invisible string.

He trails your approach with that calculated sort of interest, fully invested on your form as you carry yourself up the pair of steps. You continue to move even once you reach the final platform, but your feet do not stop moving. It is like some subconscious part of you is determined to cut as much distance between you and the na-Baron as possible. He doesn't tear his attention from you once. It's fully fixed to you as you saunter around the boarder of the bath like he couldn't bear to look away from you, and it fuels you to keep moving forward, only stopping once you stand beside him. He turns his head to gaze up at you from his position, studying you as he lounges.

"I'd save that for after the wedding, it may be difficult to say my vows otherwise." You level him with a firm stare as your tone shifts from subtly sardonic to hardened, and possibly even disappointed. " Though I'm glad to know where we stand."

You see something harden in his gaze. What, you are not sure, but the ferocity of it makes you breathless and something heated stirs in your gut.

"I mean you no ill will," he assures you, as if he had not just threatened you just a moment before. But the gravelly tone of his voice is distracting. It courses over your skin like an electrical current, humming and warm across your body. "I will bring you the heads of a thousand men if it pleases you."

It's not the admission itself that shocks you. You know that slaughter comes naturally to the na-Baron. You have witnessed that firsthand. But the sincerity and passion that cradled his words made it sound like a promise. A vow. And you know for certain that he is being purely honest. It floods you with disbelief. The way that he watches you is raw. Vulnerable but not weak or insecure. He said it with the zeal of a devout follower speaking of their faith. Full of hunger, reverence and sincerity. It makes your knees weaken and the oxygen in your lungs is suddenly useless. The devotion burning in the dark hold of his stare is something that you never imagined Feyd-Rutha could be capable of. You know that it is not love. That you are not naive enough to believe. But it is admiration. Consuming and wanting. It is almost frightening how he looks at you. Like you are an oasis, a banquet, and he is a man parched and starved. It only draws you to him even more. Like a moth fluttering closer to an open flame; hoping to be burned in its welcoming, vicious warmth.

"Why?" Your voice comes out weakened. You nearly pant, trying to breath around the fit of your bodice. It has suddenly become too tight, squeezing around your ribcage and sweltering against your skin.

He does not answer immediately. Instead he rises from the depths of the dark water, shifting to turn his body to yours, causing the water to ripple and gleam underneath the light. You can smell the perfume of the oil on his skin, fresh and warm like amber. A scandalous part of you is tempted to glance downward, even though you know that the height of the dusky liquid still hides the most intimate parts of him, but you are unable to tear your eyes away from his. They look like heavy black chasms, drawing you in and stealing your focus until he is all you can see. You can just vaguely register that he's stepping closer to you. He angles his head as he draws near, and you feel the point of his nose brush over yours through the chilled chains of your veil; the warmth of his body seeps past the barrier of your dress and sinks in deep, settling between the cradle of your hips.

"You and I; we belong together." He says it like it is a fact. A creed. To him it is. He beholds you like you are something worth worship. And the thought of having such a formidable man observing you as though you were an answer that he has been seeking makes something in you burn. It is scorching. Powerful. It knocks you breathless. "I dream of you."

The admittance makes you gasp. You briefly wonder how he could possibly have been touched by the sight of visions. Much less ones of you. How he had managed to see you in his sleep just as you had seen glimpses of him. But your marveling is quickly flooded and overruled by images of your own past dreams dancing and flashing in your mind. Pale hands sweeping across your body and leaving white-hot trails in their wake; the sting and glide of teeth and tongue; the musk and salt of sweat in your mouth. It rouses a heady sense of curiosity inside of you. And when he raises a hand and slips it underneath your veil to cup your cheek, sweeping his thumb over the shape of your lips, it makes your interest burn hotter. When you speak next your voice nearly catches in your throat. "What do you see? In your dreams."

The weight of his stare pulls you in and grips you tightly, heavy with a wild sort of hunger that might eat you alive. When he speaks next, the smoky rumble of his voice courses over you and clouds your head with a low mist. "Let me show you."

You are not sure when he had slipped the veil from over your face and off of your head, but you hear it fall behind you. Hitting the floor with a sharp, twinkling clatter. But you hardly pay it any mind. Too entranced on the heat of Feyd's palm cupping your face, holding you close while his heavy, heated stare bores into your own and in your haze, you admire that they are truly a shade of blue, just as those old visions promised. A gorgeous splash of color caught in a world of black and white. He shifts closer to you - as much as the low edge of the bath will allow, and with it you feel the sultry impression of his body heat glides over you. The cradle of his hand on your face slips from its place, traveling downward until it reaches your neck. Your heart skips a beat when the hold of his fingers reaches around your throat, and you're sure that he could feel the wild pulse of it fluttering against his palm. A flicker of amusement passes through his gaze, and suddenly it feels like some kind of test. He wants to see if you'll crack and flounder while he holds your life in his grip. But you find that the urge to flee has vanished. It's been wrung from you as though it had never been there, and suddenly you can't understand why you had ever wanted to run in the first place.

The pressure of his hand tightens like he means to squeeze the air out of you and to block your breath. Fear doesn't rise up to greet you. This isn't a challenge that you have the desire to shrink away from. You want more of it. Of him. You lean into his touch instead, tilting your chin back to bare your throat to him, and you see a ravenous type of delight pass over his expression when you do. The weight fixed around your neck; the heady scent of the rich ointment wafting from his skin dips more of that intoxicated haze over you.

For a moment you wonder if he might actually rip the oxygen from your lungs and attempt to send you to your death. The tight hold of his hand and the dark look glittering in his eyes imply that he might. But then his hold goes light, and you nearly mourn the loss when he allows his fingers to slip from around your neck. Disgracefully, you almost feel a low whine rising to the tip of your tongue. A desperate plead to have his touch on you again. But like an answer to your silent prayer, his hands unanimously run down your body, roving dangerously close to your breasts, leaving your skin tingling in their wake as they trail down and past your ribs to settle on your hips.

Time seems to slow when his fingers pluck at the smooth fabric of your skirt, bunching the material up into the cradle of his palms until it starts to slip up and over your legs, gradually revealing more and more of you. He doesn't stop until its rucked up enough to slip his hands underneath your dress, and you silently gasp at the warmth of his palms blossoming over your hips. His fingertips dig into your skin harshly enough that you know it'll be tender tomorrow, but you welcome the sting.

You can see the silent question glimmer in his eyes. The whisper of his nose gliding over your own and the nearness of his lips beckon that you come closer. He steps back just enough to allow you space, and without further prompting you lift your legs over the lip of the bath. The water is nearly scorching when you slink inside, nearly sweeping up to your waist and encapsulating you like melted wax. His grip on you didn't waver or weaken as you moved. If anything, it grew stronger, like he was worried you might slip away from him, even though the idea of escaping is a faint memory for you now.

When he tilts his head closer to yours, you think that he finally might kiss you and satiate the restless hunger that's been buzzing between the both of you. You feel the low brush of his breath against you lips when he speaks, and the throaty rasp of his voice curls out in one word:

"Beg."

It gives you pause. As soon as you hear it something defiant rises inside of you. But it isn't aggressive or wildly so. It's languid and playful. Testing. Despite the shred of desperation that you had nearly caved into earlier, you have no desire to give in so easily now. You aren't going to roll over so quickly. Not without good reason.

"No," you answer calmy, resisting, even when lust burns in your veins. "Give me a reason to."

In truth, you aren't sure where the burst of confidence comes from. Your experience with things of this nature - the touch of a man and pleasure, isn't nonexistent. You've indulged in a few nights tangled in the arms of a random temporary lover. Secretive kisses exchanged in dimly lit corridors, the ecstasy of a mouth between your thighs. But the art of it is not something that you have fully grasped onto. Flirtation and conviction in regard to sex doesn't come naturally to you. So you aren't sure why you feel inclined to tease him like you know what you're doing. But you want the challenge. Some twisted, perverted side of you wants to see the glint of the psychotic excitement that he had displayed in the arena. You want his hands on you while his eyes burn with that unrestrained ferocity. It's dangerous to goad him on. To taunt him like you understand him. You're playing a dangerous game. Like prodding at a wild animal in its enclosure, or waving a blazing, red flag in front of a pacing bull.

A fearful part of you expects for him to get angry. That he might lash out and punish you assuming that you could toy with him so freely. Maybe he'll remind you of your intended place and tell you that you aren't equals. That you mean nothing to him. But he doesn't do any of those things. Instead, he sinks down to his knees, lowering himself until the water rises up to his chest. His eyes don't stray from you once, and the hold on your hips remains firm. The intent and hunger in his eyes nearly make you lightheaded. He watches you in a way that's starved. It has you wondering if you're going to make it out of this alive. But a stronger part of you can't wait to be torn apart.

His hold on your hips gently nudges at you, guiding you to lower yourself until you're seated on the edge of the bath. You spread your legs without him having to ask, and you can see the hint of an arrogant smile perking at the corners of his mouth when one of his hands sweep down to your knee, prying it open. Anticipation simmers inside of you, searing deep inside of your gut like a hot ember. You feel his fingers sweep along your undergarment, hooking his fingers underneath the fabric to tear the delicate scrap of clothing from your hips as though it was made from paper. It stings against your skin when it snaps free, breaking with a sharp hiss as it rips apart.

You watch in awe when he lifts the frayed fabric up to his nose to draw in a heavy inhale. Embarrassment prickles at your face when you realize that he's breathing in the arousal that had soaked your underwear. It's vulgar. Filthy. But it has excitement buzzing over you and seeping into your bones. You hardly pay attention when he tosses the tattered fabric somewhere across the room, too transfixed as he leans himself forward between your knees, making a space for himself around the cradle of your thighs, hovering dangerously close to where you need him the most.

His stare pierces yours, digging a place for himself in your mind and soul, and latching on as he delivers a promise. "I'll make you scream."

Coming from anyone else it would have made you scoff or roll your eyes and cringe. Despite your inexperience, it's a line that you've heard before only to be met with utter disappointment. But you can feel the determination rolling from him, and you know that it isn't a lie. Still, you're prepared to say something snarky. To try and knock him down a peg or two before he's even started, but you never get the chance.

His head is between your thighs in an instant, spreading you open with his tongue, hot and sweltering against you. It wrenches a startled cry from your chest, and your hands scramble blindly to support yourself, clinging onto the chilled edge of the bath and the damp warmth of Feyd's shoulder so that you don't tip over. He's only just started, and his enthusiasm already leaves you suspended in disbelief. He works his mouth against you with a ravenous intensity, swiping his tongue over you before dipping it deep inside of you in a way that has liquid pleasure pouring over your body; making your nerves light up like wild, hot sparks. Your hips lift up in a mindless roll, grinding over his mouth to chase after the curl of his tongue, and he follows after the sway of your body, unshaken by your desperation.

Already you feel like you've been lit on fire. Dipped in a pool of nectar and bliss. It has your legs quivering, tensing and flexing with every suck and stoke from his mouth. It pulls ragged gasps from your heaving lungs, and you just faintly register the airy, punched out breaths lightly echoing off of the walls of the room. You can hear the wet drag of his lips and tongue licking at your cunt, tipping you closer and closer to euphoria. It's filthy. Utterly debauched. The very notion of the daughter of a Duke sleeping with a man before her wedding - fiancé or not - is scandalous, and you should be entirely ashamed that you've even wound up in this position at all. But you can't manage to find a single ounce of humiliation in your body. You're in too deep now. Nothing else matters but this moment. Nothing except for him.

Your head rolls down on your neck, and you're immediately insnared by the sight of him watching you. Most of his face is hidden by the skirt of your dress bunched around your waist, how your thighs frame his head, but you can see his eyes clearly. A haughty sense of excitement dances in them, clearly pleased with the mess that he's already made of you. You want nothing more than to wipe that arrogant look from his face, but it's almost like he can sense the quip that you're prepared to use, because the wet heat of his mouth licks over you before he closes his lips around your clit and your mind glazes over. He drags the hint of teeth over you, lighting up fire in their wake and then he sucks. Your back bows tight, breasts heaving underneath your dress, and you openly sob. But he offers you no reprieve, no chance to breathe.

With little warning he slips a finger into the wet entrance of your cunt, forcing your walls to stretch around the width of it as he curls it deep. You've touched yourself before. Used you own fingers to pleasure yourself, and you've only ever felt the hand of one other man before. A random soldier amongst the Atreides ranks, but that had been some time ago. The width of Feyd's is much bigger than your own. Thick and long enough that a single one has you gasping. The stretch of it nearly burns. But it builds a heavy ache between the apex of your thighs, rooting itself so deeply along your spine that it tears another watery cry from you. The motion of your hips turns choppy, losing your rhythm in your desperation to reach the scorching pleasure that looms over you like a wall of fire. He barely gives you time to adjust to the first finger before he's inserting another in alongside it, making the muscles of your abdomen contract and wildly. The walls of your cunt flutter around the thickness of his fingers; your body desperate to fall into the throes of release.

The fullness of it makes your mouth drop open in a silent scream, forcefully teetering you along the edge of something all-consuming and debilitating. You can taste it searing on your tongue, feel it on your fingertips and all the way down to your toes. Uninhibited moans and broken mewls of his name have begun to spill from your mouth. Punched out of you by the ceaseless drag of his tongue and weight of his finger inside of you, crooking along your walls with nasty, wet squelches to shove you closer and closer to that shattering precipice. It forces out a gutted cry that nearly stings on its way out, and you can feel Feyd's pleased laughter reverberate over your flesh in response, and the low tremors only inject more rapture into your veins. It's so close. Welling and foaming up like boiling water; a rising tide that threatens to sweep you and drown you.

All at once it stops.

You cry out like you've been wounded when he tears his mouth from you and removes his fingers from your cunt, leaving you empty and aching. You don't even try to hide your betrayed scowl as you glare down at his face, which looks entirely too delighted for your liking. Your lungs struggle around a ragged gasp, making your voice catch in your throat. "Wha- why you did sto-"

The question hardly has time to leave you before he turns his head and sinks his teeth into the plush skin of your inner thigh. It sears across your nerves, molten and white-hot, ripping a pained yelp from your chest. The smile on his face is pleased, stretched wide into that dark, impish grin. Your attention is stuck on him as he drops his jaw open, holding your scolding glower as he slips his tongue out to glide it along the sore bite mark that he left with his teeth. The wet warmth of his tongue laving over your skin, soothing the sting that he had made has your brain splitting between pain and pleasure, merging the two sensations into a muddled, delicious blur.

"Feyd." You meant for it to come out reprimanding and harsh, but instead it sounds thin and panting. You see the satisfaction spark in his eyes at the weakened tone of it, and seeking more out like a glutton, he reaches his hand forward to roll one of his knuckles over your clit. It's pure torture how he's keeping you hung along the edge of bliss. You're still sensitive from your ruined orgasm and the simple graze from the back of his hand has you doubling over like you've been struck in the gut. He tilts his head back to nuzzle his face against your own when you lean in close enough. An action that's deceptively sweet for someone so violent. It has something that feels a lot like affection bubbling up inside of your chest; dulcet and soft. You tear it away and burrow it deep before it can grow.

Guided by instinct, in a scramble to replace that unwelcome hint of tenderness, you tilt your head to join your lips to his. You can taste yourself on him, earthy and mildly sweet, and just the thought of you marking him with something so intimate - so filthy, makes you weak. He's quick to respond, meeting you eagerly with tongue and teeth. It's nearly bruising. Just as harsh and impassioned as the way that he fights, and it has you moaning into his mouth. But it isn't enough. Your hands turn greedy, sweeping over his shoulders and up the back of his neck, and in retaliation for teasing and his earlier bite, you sink your nails into the skin there, meanly dragging them until your reach his clavicle bone. But he doesn't hiss or wince in pain. The groan that spills against your lips is one of pleasure. The sound has your body thrumming and winding up tight, and paired with the steady circles he draws on your clit it has you dangerously close to tipping headfirst into the throes of melted bliss. But his touch is too light, the rhythm too slow to fully guide you into it. It leaves stuck on the edge of a torturous limbo, and you nearly whimper against his mouth.

You break the kiss in an effort to regain a sense of clarity, but he's quick to chase after you, nipping at your lips and alleviating the sting with the point of his tongue. "Feyd," you repeat, and this time it sounds horribly close to begging. You can feel your resolve cracking. Splintering down the center and melting with every glide of his finger against your clit.

"I already told you, Atreides," he murmurs it like a taunt and promise all at once. "All you need is ask."

He makes it sound so simple. So temptingly easy, but you try to cling onto your pride with a shaking grip. You know that he can see the conflict openly reflected in your eyes. The urge to fight. He moves his face from yours just enough to tilt his head as he evaluates you. It feels so condescending and the low, patronizing way that he tuts at you has a small whisper of determination peeking through the cloud of lust that fogs your mind. But he presses his knuckle against your clit in a mean drag, making your body clench and twitch like it had been stung with a live wire, and with it all cohesive thought blanks out.

"Why are you fighting?" He asks, leaning his head to run his teeth along your ear, and then the wet blaze of his tongue trails up your throat to lick the salt from your skin. "It could be like a dream."

It's such a simple sentence, but it reminds you have of how you've gotten here in the first place. The promise of pleasure, the feel of skin under your teeth, the rough grip of his hands on you. In truth, you aren't sure what you're resisting for. What game you're trying to play and win. You're just torturing yourself at this point. Holding yourself back from what you truly want needlessly. It's because of pride. The trait to endure, to remain resolute underneath the call of a challenge or opposition has been instilled in you. You've been taught to be unyielding, to hold yourself back from temptation. Especially when facing an adversary. You cannot show weakness lest you bring humiliation to your house. But you're quickly learning that you don't have much shame anymore. Being in Feyd's presence seems to drain every ounce of it from your body, shifting you into something debased and wanting. And you want him.

"Please, Feyd, I need you touch me," you beg, panting against his lips. "I need you to fuck me. I need - "

You aren't certain who moves first. If it's you who slips down from the edge of the bath or if he's the one that takes ahold of you by the hips and tugs you onto his lap. The murky water splashes and ripples from the disturbance, bathing over the lower half of your body in a warm rush as you meet in a desperate sweep of grabbing hands, and the passionate exchange of lips and the harsh graze of teeth. You follow after him as he shifts so he's leaning against the boarder of the bath, allowing you both to focus on the press of your bodies grinding against each other without the worry of falling into the water. His hips roll upward, tearing a surprised gasp from you when you feel the hard weight of his cock nudge between the apex of your thighs, brushing over your clit in a slow drag.

The feel of it is jarring almost. Dousing a small chill across your body with the reminder that you're beginning to reach the point of uncharted territory. You've never gotten this close with anyone else before. Had never entertained the idea or even desired it. Your explorations of the male body had never gone past you taking them into your mouth or vice versa. This is completely out of your depth and all of the efforts that you had taken in preparation had done little to soothe your nerves. You had spoken to your chambermaids and Lady Jessica alike about sex before, the art of love making and what you should brace for, and they had all warned you of pain. A deep tearing pain and the blood that comes with it. It had given you hardly any inclination to anticipate losing your virtue.

But even with worry tensing your gut the fervent, burning desire that's consumed you hasn't released you from its snare. Still, Feyd seems to have noticed the rigidity in your body, the way your muscles have coiled in your internal distress. He tips his head back to part his lips from yours so that your eyes can meet, and you can see amusement glittering in the darkness of them like your nervousness is humorous somehow.

"You have nothing to fear. I'll be gentle, just this once." The reassurance (or threat, you aren't quite sure) skirts over you, rough and enticing within the gravel of his voice. One of the hands that he has on your hips softly grips around your wrist, and you're left to watch curiously as he guides it down into the inky water. You gasp when he slips your palm around the weight of his cock. He's rigid and smooth in your hold, and when you inquisitively stroke your hand up the length of him, it's a little intimidating to discover the substantial girth of him. You swallow nervously around the saliva that pools in your throat. It's difficult to focus around. It's like your own body is confused, thrumming with an electrical sort of anticipation, and the clutch of anxiety that stubbornly burrows deep underneath the influence of your lust.

But there's something about the arrogant glint in Feyd's expression that makes you bristle. It gives you a touch of confidence; small, hardly there at all, but it's enough. You grip him before your determination can falter, holding him steady as you line him up to the soaked entrance of your cunt. It takes you a moment to notch him against you - a combination of your nerves and lack of practice. But when you finally do, you have to draw in a deep breath to center yourself. He's thick and warm against you and it's such a foreign sensation. A side of you still hasn't caught up with the fact that you're well and truly here, tangled up in such a scandalous position with the na-Baron - your enemy. Your rival. But it's even more shocking with how little the fact is beginning to bother you. It should frighten you. It should sicken and repulse you. But you find that it doesn't in the slightest. You only feel the damning lick of desire, the urge to chase after your pleasure and to feel the na-Baron come undone underneath you.

With a deep inhale you begin to sink yourself down on him before your nerves can get ahold of you. The stretch stings from the head of his cock working inside, the muscles between the junction of your hips straining from the effort. It's already intense, splitting you open with a fullness that you have yet to feel before even though he isn't even halfway in. Every shred of oxygen has been punched out from your lungs, and your mouth drops open in a silent gasp as you continue to slip yourself down onto him, forcing your body to accommodate to the width of his girth. Liquid, molten honey drips down the length of your spine, blurring with the raw sting rooted deep inside of you, nearly making you double over from the intensity of it.

"Easy," Feyd hums suddenly, reaching up to cup the side of your face. When he swipes his thumb underneath your eye, you just vaguely register the dampness there. Tears. You hadn't even realized that you had begun to cry from the overwhelming nature of it all, and even though it's expected, it's a little irritating to see how unbothered he appears to be while you feel as though you're coming undone at the seams. But the warmth of his hand against your cheek pulls you from the searing, electrical pressure of your muscles giving around his length, a beacon in a storm. It's another oddly, sweet gesture from the someone so brutal, and combined with the soothing weight of his hand on your waist, it has another bout of that horrendous affection rising up inside of you. Even when he lifts his tearstained thumb to his lips to lick the damp salt from his finger.

It's all too overwhelming. The sensation of his body on yours, his eyes on you, the push of his cock filling you up. It has more desire building up inside of you and it guides you to sink even more of yourself down on him, eager to take every inch. You feel it when the crown pushes past the tight ring of your cunt. The abrupt pop sends heavy tremors across your body, making your spine bow forward like a melted candlestick. It's like every bit of your energy has been sapped from you by a single motion and you have no choice but to let your head prop against his shoulder as you collect yourself with a trembling sigh. But you don't bother giving yourself any reprieve, discarding his earlier advice and bearing your hips down to force more of him deep inside, and your jaws drops open in a silent, punchout scream when your walls stretch to accommodate him.

Your mind has all but melted underneath the intensity of it, shifting to a blank with each inch that you take. By the time that the back of your thighs meets the support of his lap you feel like pure, useless mush. Reduced to pliant mess by the sudden fullness that's been stuffed into your cunt. You swear that you can feel him in your throat, shoving your lungs tight against the walls of your ribcage, keeping you breathless.

"I told you to go easy." The rumble of his voice breaks out, bleeding past the clouded over haze in your mind in a deep rasp. It's difficult to discern if he's mocking you or chiding you, but knowing what you've learned of him already, it's safe to assume that it's probably both.

You distantly feel you shake your head against his shoulder, more of that defiance rearing up. "I don't want to go easy," you counter. It takes you a moment to build up the strength and coherence to pull yourself back, tilting your chin up to assess him. His eyes are like burning pits, a yawning void that wants to eat you alive. But you don't have it in yourself to shy away from it. Instead you lean forward, slipping your hands around to grip the back of his neck, supporting yourself has you brush your nose along his. The press of his body underneath you is unflinching, his expression relaxed, but you are certain that you feel something in him waver. The hint of a vulnerability. A fleeting glimpse of it. But that's all you need. It's more than enough to tell you that if you want to, you can just as easily have him wrapped around your finger.

You angle your head closer, pressing soft kisses along the plush of his lips and the sharp cut of his jaw. "Please," you beg softly.

His mouth is on yours in an instant, hot and hungry, pulling you into another frenzied kiss, licking into your mouth to taste you. Just the glide of his lips against yours is enough to have that heated coil in your stomach already winding up tight. You feel like you're drowning. Caught up in a torrent of heat and bliss. It has your hips rising up mindlessly, instinctively working yourself on the length of his cock in a desperate need to chase after your pleasure. Stinging aftershocks trickle across your muscles with each short drag, but it only serves to make your nerves hum; aching so wonderfully deep that your eyes nearly roll back.

His lips leave yours to trail along to corners of your mouth, sweeping down your jaw to nip and bite along the delicate skin of your throat, intent to leave his mark on you. It distracts you. Pulling your focus onto the sharp cut of his teeth on your neck, that it completely catches you off guard when he secures an arm around your waist, pinning you close to his body before he thrusts his hips up into yours like he's determined to carve his place between your them. The pace that he sets is grueling. A merciless rhythm that strikes the air out of your lungs with each pronounced roll. He fills you in a way that hurts, stretching you open with every plunge of his cock. But it's an exquisite type of pain. It feels like it's tearing you apart just to piece you back together again.

You struggle to meet his pace. Your movements aren't as coordinated; choppy, and he doesn't wait for you to catch up and figure out the greedy movement and rhythm he's set. The sway of the water around your bodies seem to stifle and aid the motion of your hips simultaneously, dragging them down and lifting them all at once. You're practically useless above him, forced to sit and take it. But he doesn't seem annoyed or undeterred in the slightest with the way that he pounds himself into you. It has your brain going fuzzy, glazing over with the impression of his veins gliding along the walls of your cunt. His chest rubs against your breasts, shifting the smooth material of your dress over your nipples, and the added friction makes your back pull taut.

The heat of his mouth closes over the vulnerable stretch of your throat and you can feel the tip of his tongue glide over your pulse like he's tempted to sink his teeth in deep to drink the flow of your blood. Your cunt clenches down on his girth at the thought, and you're rewarded with a low, guttural groan that reverberates across his chest from the inside out. It makes you eager to hear more from him. To make him just as broken and debauched as you are.

You can hardly recognize yourself anymore. The way that he's practically turned you into an animal; wanton and gluttonous. You can hear the sound of your own voice, unrestrained and loud as it cries out in pleasured moans and whimpers. You don't think you've ever heard yourself this way. So uninhibited and sinful. None of your past lovers, as satisfactory as they had been, had ever been able to pull reactions like this from you. It nearly makes you feel like a stranger in your own body. Unfamiliar with your skin. But it's irresistibly good, unprincipled and shameless. But it feels like pure release, untethered by expectations or rules. And like a starved thing, you want more. You want more of him. To hear him, to feel more of him, to taste him on your tongue.

In a wild craving to hear the throaty sound of his pleasured breaths, you slip your throat away from his mouth, ignoring the disgruntled snarl that stretches across his lips to grip the nape of his neck. You lean forward before he can question you and press your teeth into the smooth flesh that stretches over the junction of his shoulder, careful not to break skin but enough to cause the sting of pain. It's like a prize when a deep groan rips out from his chest, but the sharp, bruising thrust that follows closely behind nearly dislodges your teeth from him. He must have noticed the grip of your jaw waver because he slips a hand up to cradle the back of your skull, securing you in place.

"More," he demands in a thick rasp.

The sound of the request has liquid fire dousing over you, and you don't have the strength or desire to resist. You sink your teeth down even more until it threatens to split skin underneath the weight of your bite, stopping short before you could do any actual damage. But the irritated, almost forlorn sigh that greets your ears catches your attention. His fingers flex around the back of your head like he wants to shove you closer. But surely he doesn't want that. Your teeth will tear right through him if you apply any more pressure.

"Harder." The insistent order comes out like pure gravel, and matched with another wild thrust, it has your teeth clamping down on his shoulder. The muscles in your jaw squeeze tight until flesh breaks and something iron and strangely bitter spills across your tongue and threatens to pour down your throat. The noise that leaves him is gutted and wanton. Your body clenches around him as soon as you hear the ragged panting that trickles from his lips, setting you alight with even more ardency, and the sting of your bite searing across his nerves somehow manages to fuel him with even more vigor. He rams his cock into you with heavy strokes that are debilitating. You nearly feel like a doll, nothing more than a being for his pleasure, if not for the reverent way that his hands begin to glide along your body. Clutching you to him like might slip away.

It pulls you close to him, and the position has his pelvis grinding against your clit with every roll of his hips. Unable to hold in the string of moans and whimpers that beg to slip from your chest, you have to slip your teeth from his skin to pant and cry against his shoulder. It's like the sun is eating at your body. Warmth, and heat, and rapture scorching you from the inside, threatening to burn and tear you apart. You can taste it, warm and sweet on the tip of your tongue, mixing with the dark tart of his blood into an intoxicating flavor. It makes you lose all sense of yourself with your mind slipping under a blank mist. Your body is so distant from you now and the only thing that keeps you connected to it is the pleasure and ecstasy soaking your limbs and filling your lungs; the thickness of him stretching you open and stuffing you full.

"Feyd," you gasp like a warning and a plea, blindly clawing at his arms and shoulders to keep you tethered down and present. But each relentless thrust just hurtles you closer to that yawning precipice. The head of his cock brushes against something deep and devastating inside of you and that's all it takes for you to split apart with a ragged scream. You hardly have time to brace for it when it finally reaches you. Bursts of white and piercing stars explode behind your eyes like a kaleidoscope; fire and electricity seize you tight, forcing every muscle in your body to wind up tight like you've been shocked. All of the air has been snatched from your lungs making your feel as though you've blacked out; lightheaded and sluggish.

You can hear Feyd grunting in your ear, but his pacing has turned messy, losing the pronounced, steady rhythm he once had in his desperation to reach his own end. Thrusting into you in a manner that's almost wild. Both of his hands find your waist and his fingertips dig in deep enough to tear a weak cry from you. With a long, guttural moan he reaches his climax, burying himself deep into your cunt as he fills you with a flood of pulsing warmth before sagging back against the boarder of the tub.

You aren't sure how long you stay like that for, suspended in a space tucked between your body and thrumming, pulsing heat. When your breath comes back to you, it's labored and deep, drawing in the scent of perfumed oils and the heady salt of sweat. You've gone limp, limbs lax and useless as your full weight drapes across the firm press of Feyd's body underneath you. It's soothing to have him close, even though it shouldn't be. There should be fear in your chest. Self-disgust and betrayal should hang over you like a cloud, but there's nothing except for satisfaction and peace. Maybe it will leave you once the influence of pheromones and the high of sex dissipate, and reality will come hurtling down on you with the conviction of a calamity. But as of now, you have no desire to entertain any of those anxieties. You nuzzle closer to Feyd, tucking your face into the crook of his neck with the ease of someone who's done it a thousand times, even while a faint part of you worries that he'll shove you away. That he might push you from him and rise from the bath to leave you abandoned in water turned tepid and soiled to remind you of your true place here. But he doesn't. He lets you settle over him, idly running his fingertips up the divot of your spine from over the cover of your soaked dress.

You feel the thrum voice of his vibrate across his chest before you hear it, and a part of you expects some sort of scathing remark.

"Did I still disappoint?"

Your eyebrows furrow at the question as your slow-moving brain struggles to follow the question, and the near flat quality of his voice doesn't assist you any. But when your finally grasp onto the realization, you can't fight off a light smile that perks at your lips from the notion that he might be teasing you. The affection is back with a vengeance. Blossoming in your chest, saccharine and warm. But now you don't have the strength to try and shove it away or to distract yourself.

"Hmmm," you hum lowly, feigning consideration as you draw in a deep sigh. "I suppose you've redeemed yourself."

The scent of something strongly metallic fills your nose, settling deep and pulling you from the gentle fuzz that's stuffed your skull. It draws you to pull yourself from the cradle of his chest to evaluate him. Your eyes are quick to scan his pallid skin and you immediately notice the rivulets of black that pour down his shoulder, streaming from the angry bitemark that has been cut into his flesh. Guilt spreads through you at the sight even though he had commanded - begged, really, for you to do it. You're sure that his blood is still smeared across your lips in a dark stain. More proof of the pain you had eagerly inflicted on him.

"I'm sorry," you apologize softly. You reach down to cup some of the murky water into the divot of your palm, it has healing properties you remember reading, and lift it up to gently pour it over the wound. Even though it must sting, he doesn't so much as flinch underneath the feel of the medicinal liquid flowing over the gash.

"Don't be," he assures. He glides the pad of one of his thumbs across your bottom lip, and you distantly gather that he's collecting the glaze of his blood there. His eyes follow the motion like he's entranced, and the intensity behind it could have sparked another bout of lust in you if you weren't already so spent. He lifts his black-stained fingers between you both, rubbing his fingertips together as he watches the smear of blood glitter underneath the cast of the pale lighting. "I'll wear it with pride."

There it is again. More of that odd, unwavering devotion. Perhaps you should be suspicious of it. It could be some sort of ploy to lull you into a false sense of security, but instinct tells you that he's being purely honest. And that might be even more frightening. If he's already so committed and consumed by lust and entitlement now, then there's truly no idea what could happen if his admiration were to evolve into something deeper. Darker. Less restrained. Horrendously, the prospect of it intrigues you. You can't help but wonder what it would be like to bask under the attention of Feyd-Rautha's obsession. An even sicker side of you might hope for it too.

You snap that thought shut and bury it deep before it can flourish. You concentrate your mind on your surroundings instead, like the dark water lapping along the edge of the bath, soaking the expensive fabrics of your dress, now damaged and defiled, and the musk of sex and fragrant oils hanging heavy in the air; the press of his flaccid cock still stuffed inside of you. But the weight of Feyd's stare cuts through all of it, gravitating your own to raise to him in turn. You can see the pale hint of blue reflecting in them, just as gorgeous as the expanse of a wild ocean. It draws you closer to him and he angles his head to join his lips to yours. For the first time this night this kiss is something soft and gentle. It feels like reverence when the plush of his mouth parts against yours. Drawing in the taste of you on the tip of his tongue, exchanging a mix or your arousal and his blood with the glide of your lips. It's a kiss that pulls you down into his orbit. It makes everything fade it an unclear background until the only thing that matters is the warmth of him underneath your hands; the pulse of his heartbeat thrumming steadily within his chest. With another delicate nip of his teeth and the sweep of his hands around you, temptation rings throughout your bones and begs you to fall into him.

And without any resistance, you do.

#feyd x reader #feyd rautha x reader #feyd x you #feyd rautha x you #feyd rautha #feyd oneshot #feyd rautha harkonnen #dune part 2 #dune imagine #dune oneshot #dune 2024 #dune x reader

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ninapi · 1 year ago

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┊┊┊✧ ⁺ ⁺╚══ Wind Pillar ╝

Premise: A life without the demon corps was just meaningless. Living with a heavy survivor guilt can really eat someone from the inside. That was until a weak light arrived in the most unexpected way possible, breathing life back into his lungs, making him feel needed once more.

Word Count: 5081

Warning: spoilers, the story takes place after the manga’s original timeline.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Shinazugawa Sanemi was not the wind pillar anymore, he wasn’t Genya’s older brother anymore either. There was nobody left in this world that needed him.

After losing his family and dedicating his youth to demon hunting, losing the corps was the final blow for him.

Why was he the only one left?

He should have died if not with his family back in the day he should at least have died defending his brother’s life, Genya should be the one alive right now, not him.

What is the point of being alive when everything you care for was now gone?

He wasn’t particularly good at anything else besides demon hunting, getting a regular job and settling down was definitely not his style. He walked around the neighborhood he used to live in when his family was still alive, the thought of moving back into his old house crossed his mind, maybe do some renovations, hopefully he could drown in his good memories until time would come to give out his last breath.

But the house was now taken by an unknown family. A lot of people lost it all to demons and the destruction they brought with them, it wasn’t uncommon to see abandoned houses here and there, it made sense the house was deemed abandoned, they did leave to never come back.

He had nothing left, not even his old house.

Starting fresh could be encouraging to others, but for Sanemi it was torture.

None of the dojos he visited needed new instructors, majority of them were terrified by his looks alone, if a bunch of guys hitting each other for no apparent reason didn’t want him there what type of job was he supposed to get? It’s not like he was well mannered and literate like Tomioka or had a support network like Tanjiro. What’s the point of being the second strongest pillar if the demons were now all gone.

Sanemi’s lunch was now being given to stray ducks as he had no appetite whatsoever, feeding them was more productive than remaining in such a depressing head space, that’s when an orange rolled in between his feet. He didn’t think much of it, maybe someone dropped it while shopping, but then another orange came rolling next, and then three, making him look back in confusion.

A lone cart full of oranges was coming full speed down a hill with no one pushing it. He had to do something otherwise the villagers could get hurt, he saw small children playing around the area not long ago. Running towards it he was able to stop it before anything major happened, only a few oranges were lost, and the cart was still in good shape. A young woman came running in his direction panting for her life, “Thank you so much, good sir. My cart, it was so heavy, I lost control of it on my way home.”

Not trusting your current strength, he kept on holding the cart, still thinking of the kids running around and how exhausted you looked. “Were you heading down hill?”

“Not really, I was actually supposed to go up the hill behind us, but the cart was heavier than I expected, and it wouldn’t listen to me, so it rolled backwards.” Sanemi stared at said hill with a worrisome expression, that was no hill, that was a full-sized mountain. You were small, looked frail, pale even, little cuts and scars littering your hands. There was no way you could take the cart up that mountain, and it was not like he had anything else to do.

Somehow you reminded him of his mother and how they always needed to help her move heavy stuff around and reach tall places, wanting to help you came out naturally from his heart. “Lead the way.”

“Eh? It’s ok, don’t worry about me. I can take it!” your blushy surprised looking face caused him to scoff, turning the cart around and walking up the first hill. “Like hell you can. Now shut up and tell me where to go.”

“How can I tell you where to go if I shut up?” you were doing your best not to grin at his constipated looking scowl, but instead of teasing him further you just walked beside him in silence. The climb up to your house was steep, but he didn’t even sweat, before you noticed you were now at the entrance of your property, all over way too fast.

“Thank you, good sir. You can leave the cart there I will unload the oranges.” you ran into a small shed, bringing a cloth to wrap them up and bring them all inside. If the cart was heavy, the load was even worse. You couldn’t even lift them from the ground, causing Sanemi to heave a deep sigh. “Don’t you have a husband to help you? Or someone else like a father or brothers? There’s no way you can take all those fucking oranges inside unless you take one at a time and that would take a stupid amount of time.” He grabbed the load with one hand, swinging it over his shoulder like if it weighted nothing, waiting for you to open the door to your abode.

“I do not. My entire family was devoured by a wild beast while I was being treated in a hospice, far from here. Once I regained my strength back, they were all gone. My brother was the one who did all the heavy work around here, my mother and I would pick up the harvest and take care of the animals.” you had a pretty large farm, it wasn’t well tended now but it had several crops still growing and remains of what it used to be an area for livestock. “So, I do most of the work now that I’m alone.”

He knows how uncomfortable sympathetic comments are, so he doesn’t address the information gained, “Why do you even need so many oranges?” a loud thump could be heard as he set them on the kitchen floor, making the wooden floor tremble at the weight. “I was thinking of using them to make some marmalade and sell it at the markets, growing crops is harder than I thought, and I still need to eat, so had to figure something out.”

It was somewhat comforting for Sanemi hearing about the struggles of someone with a similar background. You both couldn’t protect your family, both had to worry about an uncertain future ahead of you. Both had things the other didn’t, but it felt good knowing he wasn’t the only one out there with similar problems.

“Do you like marmalade? I got some bread earlier, come sit down. Let me make you some tea, I still need to thank you for your kindness.” he nodded looking around for a place to sit down, the climb and the lack of food were starting to get to him, it sounded like a good idea.

He never thought making marmalade could be as complex, he had nothing better to do so he just looked at you from where he was sitting. Your hands were so small you needed both of them to stir the mix in the pot, it was amusing. The focus you were putting into making the treat, the tip of your tongue poking out passed your lips in concentration, it was all very eye catching. He’s always admire people that are good at cooking, always wanted to make delicious ohagi for himself, but he wasn’t the best with his hands unless it required brutish strength.

Once the marmalade was ready, you brought it to the small table in front of him, setting down a loaf of bread, a knife and two cups of steaming green tea.

Sanemi thinks back of the last time he was able to relax this way, sad thing really, he hadn’t ever since his mother left this world. Thinking of having afternoon tea without a worry in the world, it’s been over a decade since he had the luxury to do just that.

“Is it good? Do you like it? If you don’t, I can bring out something else.” the expectant look in your eyes made him contemplate what was in his mouth. It was sweet and very refreshing, he’s never had orange marmalade before so he couldn’t really compare it to any other, but he definitely didn’t hate it and wouldn’t mind eating some more. “It’s good, I’m sure it will sell well.” happy with his reply, you tried a bit yourself making mental notes of how to improve it even more.

Teacups were empty, plates clean, it was time for Sanemi to go back to wonder around town, maybe even try to find that one inn he heard about the day before. As he was getting up from his seat heavy rain came pouring down, a loud thunder making you jump. “When it rains this bad around here it takes a while for it to go away; would you like to stay for dinner? Um…sir?”

“Shinazugawa. Shinazugawa Sanemi.”

“Would you like to stay for dinner, Shinazugawa-san? I’m (Y/N) by the way.” he was starting to worry for your well being, you were deliberately letting an unknown man into your house and didn’t even know his name, that was not safe, even without demons around. “Tch, not like I have a choice.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The rain was just not stopping, dinner was done for, and it was pitch black outside, the mountain’s treacherous paths were not places to wonder around in a stormy night like this one, “Shinazugawa-san, how about you stay for the night? You can stay in my brother’s room; I can even lend you some of his clothing so you can take a bath.”

A bath, it’s been days since he took one of those, an alluring offer indeed, but somehow the way you were taking the situation didn’t sit right in his stomach, rage was now bubbling inside his chest at your disregard for your own safety.

“Are you dumb or what? Do you not see me as a man? Hell, you do know you shouldn’t bring men you don’t know into your house, right? Specially not at night.” his angry outburst made you giggle, closing the front door shut to make a statement. “You sound like my brother, he used to say things like that to my mother. I do know you though, you’re the very kind young man that helped a woman in need without asking anything in return, I even know your name now.”

“So what? Is not like I couldn’t just do something to you now that it’s dark, it’s just the two of us here in the mountain, no one would hear if something was to happen, nobody would come even if you screamed for help like a damn pig. Don’t do stupid things like that even if you think you know someone, you don’t know a fucking thing about me.” he was shouting at this point, his fists shacking. He was really a kind man, all he wanted was for you to understand how evil the world out there could be, to others it could be overwhelming to have a figure like him shouting so angrily at them but you could see he was just worried.

“I won’t do it again, Shinazugawa-san, I promise. Now please come with me, I will show you where the bath is.” your attitude and gentle smile were infuriating. All he could think of was how his sweet mother got beaten down by his own father and the men he would bring home sometimes for drinks. How she could barely defend her children and would always ended up hurt, how she had no chance whatsoever to fight stronger men. You wouldn’t be able to defend yourself either, you needed some sense put in that head of yours before it was too late.

He pinned you against the bathroom wall, one of his muscular thighs going in between your legs, rendering you useless against his grip, he was glaring down at you in a strangely attractive way triggering many things within you, except fear, “See how easy it is for me if I wanted to hurt your ass? Take me seriously dammit, take every man fucking seriously, you can’t trust someone you don’t know so easily, it will get you killed.” he let go off your wrists roughly, wanting you to learn your lesson, but one of your hands reached for his, “You have a blister. Let me bring a bandage so we can clean it, it was probably the cart, it tends to do that.”

“No, stop. Why are you acting this way? Are you out of your mind? I could have assaulted you just now, open your eyes woman!”

“But you didn’t. You had more than one chance to do as you pleased with me, but you didn’t. Instead, you ate my food, laughed at my jokes, helped me when no one else did. You are a kind man Shinazugawa-san, wether you want to accept it or not. I’m not stupid, I wouldn’t invite someone over to my house if it could do me some harm.”

Sanemi was speechless. You didn’t consider him dangerous? He couldn’t even get a decent job because everyone would look at him like the killer he is. If there was someone dangerous out there it was him, he could kill you without even trying, in seconds, painfully, he was the second strongest in a chain of the strongest people humanity had to offer. There was something off with your view of the world.

“Now, stay still, I’m going to clean it.” his hand has never been held that way before, of course he’s had his wounds tended to, he’s always needing some patching up after his many battles, but your touch was different, it was so gentle, he could feel how you were really worried about him, about his tiny blister hurting with your touch, like if he was as frail as you were. “You gotta make sure the wound is properly cleaned before you apply bandages, look at yourself, all those scars…I bet they were all so painful…you need proper care if you don’t want them to get infected or leave traces. You tell me to take care of myself but wouldn’t look in a mirror first.”

Nobody talks to him like that, specially not females. The girls of the butterfly state were always scared of him and just looking their way would make them run away. The only active women in his life were his mother and sisters, he never had time to mess around with girls or to get his wounds properly taken care of, there were demons out there that needed to be killed and that’s all that mattered to him back then.

“Are you seriously not afraid of me?”

You looked up into his eyes, staring at him in disbelief, his tone was a lot tamer now you could hear the honest confusion lacing his words, “Why would I? You look tough, that’s true. But I am nobody to judge others. My brother also had many scars from taking care of the farm, even several of his toes were missing from when he stepped on a saw by accident, you’re not the only one around with a couple of fingers missing in this violent era. People used to say he was scary, all big and full of scars, skin tanned by the long hours of working in the fields, but he was a gentle man, always took great care of me and my mother. You strike me as the same type, you don’t feel like someone who would hurt the weak, you feel more like someone that protects them.”

Sanemi was left speechless once more as you left for him to enjoy his bath, you made sure the water was warm enough from the outside, blowing on the fire constantly until you heard him come out. He’s never been able to relax this much, he knew demons weren’t a threat anymore but that didn’t only mean he was unemployed, he didn’t think of what that meant fully until now. No demons meant less danger, meant being able to take his time to live life, to breathe, to relax. It was a strange feeling, not having to worry about someone bursting the door open and slaughtering the woman outside, but it was a good kind of strange.

He felt awfully relaxed that night and after years of nightmares, he was finally able to sleep peacefully.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It’s been three days and the rain just wouldn’t stop. Sanemi had helped you covering the crops so they wouldn’t die out in the rain but there was no sign of it stopping any time soon. It was typhoon season, and it was heavily hitting you this year.

Not only did he help with the crops, but the roof also had holes in it which you two didn’t notice until you woke up to a flooded floor, so he repaired it. Your front door wasn’t safe enough for his liking, so he used his extra time to take care of that as well. He didn’t even notice time was moving this fast and days had gone by. It wasn’t as bad having something to do, keep your mind busy and your body active, regular people life wasn’t as boring and dreadful as he originally thought it was.

There was so much to do around the house that he wondered how you’ve managed to live up here in the mountain by yourself all this time. He got to learn you’ve been living here all alone for a couple of years and you have been doing all you can to not let the farm fall, your determination was admirable and made him question his own future.

“Shinazugawa-san, I enjoy thoroughly having you here, but isn’t your family going to worry? It’s kind of been a while now.” the back of his neck was strangely hot, your comment taking him off guard. He enjoyed the simplicity of the last few days comparing it to the rest of his life, he’s never been able to just sit down and listen to the rain fall on the roof sipping on a hot cup of tea, but he didn’t know you were enjoying it just as much.

“I don’t have a family. They also got killed by a wild beast long time ago, the only brother I had left passed this year, so no, nobody is going to worry about me not returning home, I don’t even have a home.” the stoic look on his face while he was retailing his life tragedy worried you, it’s something he should feel sad for, but he didn’t look sad, he looked angry, and you could understand that feeling, your family was taken away from you in the very same way.

“I bet your brother looked like you.” he wasn’t expecting that, usually people get uncomfortable with the thought of having to empathize with something they can’t understand and start apologizing, but you did go through the same, you stirred the subject around like he usually does when facing the same situation and he was grateful. “Hm, he had less scars than me, was taller, dark hair. But he did kind of look like me.”

“I bet he was kind too.”

“He was.” you were now pouring more tea in his cup, admiring the heavy rainfall through your window. “My brother didn’t look like me at all, he was way kinder, very smart, had the prettiest face I’ve ever seen with beautiful large eyes.” this made Sanemi look at your face, it was difficult to imagine a big muscly guy that looked anything close to the delicate tiny woman in front of him, but then again, he used to see his mother in Genya all the time. “Sounds a lot like you.” blood was flowing at full speed to your cheeks, decorating your lovely face with tinges of reds.

“Sometimes I wish I was the one the beast ate instead of my brother, the farm needs him, he was so good with animals and with the people at the market too, everyone loved him, he was the best of the two of us, it’s a shame really.”

Sanemi was lost in your face, the way your eyes watered at the memory of your brother, the way a soft defeated smile crept on your face signalizing guilt, he felt understood in a very deep level, strangely. “Same. I did all I could to protect my brother, I wanted him to live a normal life, get a wife, have some kids. But he ended up following me around and dying before me anyways. All my efforts were completely useless. I should have died, not him.” his fists were now shaking against the coffee table, veins popping all around his body as a rush of anger and despair rushed through him at the thought of his dying baby brother.

“I’m sure he just wanted to be with his beloved older brother. I used to follow mine around as well, wanted him to teach me how to get milk from the cow and got myself a kick to the face, turns out they get quite stressed if you’re too excited.” the absurdity of it all felt like getting some sort of medication for the illness that consumed his heart, like a serum being injected into his blood stream, cooling his anger down.

“Dumbass.” the sound of your laughter brought new air into the house, a house that is rather quiet all the time was now loud, and it smelled like a proper home.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

After two stormy days more, the sun was finally out. There was a lot of work to do in the fields to fix the damage caused by the storm. Sanemi started working on it as soon as he woke up without even asking you, and it took you both all day, something you thought would take an hour ended up extending throughout the entire day.

He was better at this than he thought he would, you even ended up planting some pumpkin seeds you got from the market a while back upon his suggestion of adding different types off crops. The front of the farm looked like a proper one afterwards bringing a powerful sense of completion to the both of you. It was hard work, but teamwork does really make a difference. And you two made a good team.

The sun was setting, all there was left to do was water the crops and prepare dinner, fresh rice already cooking in a pot inside the house. “Maybe you can grow some berries and do your marmalade using them instead of having to buy oranges, growing orange trees seems like a pain in the ass and there are wild berries in the forest, should be easy to find some and bring them here.” you were giving it serious thought, you’ve never thought about changing the ingredients, you were just replicating the treat your mother used to do for you and your brother when you were little. Being so lost in your head doing ingredient calculations and noting ideas for the recipe, you didn’t see the frog that was comfortably resting on your foot. Once you did though, panic filled your insides, you hated frogs and would always stay as far away as possible from them.

“Shinazugawa-san…there’s…there’s a-“ you looked like you were about to faint so he walked closer to you, spotting the aggressor, “(Y/N) is just a stupid frog, move your foot, it’ll go away on its own.” you shook your head closing your eyes shut, you didn’t want to hurt the poor animal out of your own silly phobia.

Sanemi crouched down to your feet, grabbing the little troublemaker and took it over to the edge of the river near your property. When he came back you were still frozen in place, sweating. “It’s gone now.” You were ridiculous, it was just a tiny frog, you couldn’t even defend yourself against a frog, how were you going to defend yourself against the odds of life. You let out a long-held breath, taking his hands in yours as a token of appreciation, quickly forgetting the hose was in your hand and getting his face completely wet.

“(Y/N)….you little piece of shit….” his face was red, a deep snarl on his face. You threw the hose to the ground and ran for your life, laughing in the process. “I’m so sorry!! Kyaaaaa, how are you this fast!” one step of his was five of yours, he caught up to you in no time and the look on his face was a sight to behold.

He wasn’t angry, his wet hair was sticking onto his face, and he was laughing. He looked way younger this way and it made you feel relived to see he was having as much fun as you did these days. Your hand reached his face, caressing the droplets of water away, a loving smile gracing your lips. He wasn’t sure when things started heading in this direction but he’s never felt that way before and he didn’t hate it.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

There weren’t more excuses for Sanemi to linger around, the rain was gone, the farm cleaned up from the storm, even the marmalade was ready to be sold. He offered to help you with the cart since it was even heavier now that the load had increased.

The idea was for him to take you downtown and then leave and move on with his life, find a job and a place to stay.

But you didn’t even know how to build the display table in the market and then unloading the cart is faster between two people. Then an old lady asked him for three jars of marmalade and by mid afternoon he was still by your side selling your goods.

“Sir, could I convince you and your wife to trade two of your jars for one of my chickens? I don’t have any money left but I would really like to take some home for my kids.” His what- the cloth he was using to clean the table ended up on the floor at her statement, taking him off-guard, you also didn’t say anything to deny it. “What do you think, dear husband? I think it would be a good idea, we could look around and see if we can find her a mate and get eggs from them.” so you were seriously not just going to ignore it but also go along with it-

“Um, yeah. There’s some spare wood in the shed, I could use that to build them a house.” the lady was now handing him the cage with said chicken, waiting anxiously for the last two jars of goodness to be her own.

“You make such a lovely couple; I wish my husband was as understanding and loving as yours. Thank you, my children and I will be forever in your debt, my youngest is celebrating her birthday today, I wanted to bring something special home.” it somehow warmed both of your hearts, you both think of days when you had a large family and how much fun you had eating delicious treats with your siblings, children laughter filling out every corner. “Thank you for your kind words, we’ll take good care of your chicken. I hope you and the children have a lovely evening!” and just like that the marmalade was officially sold out.

“So where do you think we can find Mia’s future husband?” he wasn’t sure how or when you and him became a ‘we’ but he wasn’t mad at how it sounded like and the intentions behind it. “Did you just name the fucking chicken?” he was used to your silly antics by now but it was still very much amusing to him, your quiet giggles confirming he was right. “I saw someone selling some chickens by the entrance, let’s go see if they have one after cleaning up.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Time Skip~

It’s been ten years since Sanemi started coming to this market every morning. He still misses the fun days of demon hunting, but mostly he still misses his brother. Life wasn’t as good to Genya as it was to him, and he still felt guilty from living the life he wanted his brother to have.

Having a permanent stall in the market came with a lot of responsibilities and a lot of hard work, but his strength was put to good use by the smartest person he’s ever met.

“How much for the corn?” Sanemi, who was now cleaning the small worktable looked up to tend his first customer of the day. “If you take two you get one fr- Tomioka???” Giyuu was smirking at him from the other side of the table, a knowing look in his eyes. “That apron looks good on you, Shinazugawa.” Leaving the stall behind, he walked over to his old pillar mate, it’s been years since the last time they saw each other.

“Heard your stupid ass went to live with his old master like a sissy lost baby, near Tanjiro and the gang of brats.”

Some things never change.

“Yeah, it’s been a while, we didn’t even know you were still alive.” the conversation got cut short by a child clinging onto Sanemi’s leg, getting Giyuu’s attention. “Father, mother needs your help unloading the milk crates.”

Crouching down to his size, Giyuu stares into the child's eyes, lost in the memories of his lost friends, painful days of loss came right into his heart, “You look just like your uncle.” patting the child on the head, he smiled, the ghosts of his lost comrades shining behind the toddler. “I know, I was named Genma after uncle, but my hair is like this because of mother, the rest have father’s hair.” As if on cue you came out of the back with a baby tied to your back, an older looking boy than the one before him holding a sleeping girl in his arms. “Nemi, the milk!”

“I see you’ve been busy.” Sanemi’s face was red as a beet, making him grumble insults quietly for his child not to hear.

“I’ll do it in a second, come here, I want you to meet an old friend of mine.” this was the first time any of them had addressed the love-hate relationship they had in the past as friendship, but now being older they both agree that’s what it was. “Tomioka, this is my wife (Y/N)”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you…and your four children…” the smirk on his face was so sly nobody would notice it but Sanemi, it made him want to punch his guts like he would do back in the day when they were younger.

“Is that your wife over there, Tomioka-san? I see you also have a little one, take some of our milk, our kids love it!” The child looked just like him, it was an easy guess. You were doing your best to move around with a child on your back and a swell on your stomach, a promise of another youngster arriving soon. The woman behind Giyuu came holding his son and after a long chat and bunch of laughter they promised to go to your place for dinner soon.

Ten years ago Sanemi thought he had lost it all.

And he did.

But he made a silent promise to Genya after meeting you, he would live as long as he could, never waste the opportunity to live his brother gave him, never let his sacrifice be in vain, he would live for the both of them, he would bring life to this world and protect it the way he couldn’t protect his siblings, he would protect his family until his last breath and once that moment comes and he gets to see him again, he will have many stories to share as they embrace eternity together, as family.

▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄

Tagged babes: @doumadono

Masterlist Bonus Chapter

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spidey-strange · 6 months ago

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Romeo, Romeo...

I am now living in a post Romeo & Juliet world. It might well be the only time I get to see it, but honestly what I saw on Saturday is going to stay with me forever. I wanted to put it down into words - my review of this play.

The first part of the experience is the music. We were in the bar and this repetitive rumble sound played over the tannoy, signalling that we were being called to Verona. We took our seats and we waited, all while more and more haze appeared across the sparsely-set stage and the music bore deep into my soul, gnarling and industrial, giving a sense of dystopian doom and foreboding. By the time the lights went out and the video screen showed 1597 in bright red lettering, I was already feeling a nervous nausea and an elevated heart rate.

This play is asking you to pretend, as much as they are. There is no set. There are no props. The actors stand like statues, dotted around, sometimes deep into the back of the stage as if ghostly apparitions. Sometimes the actors talk freely, other times they take their place behind mic stands as if part of a debating society. What happens on stage is coupled with video footage of other actors scattered around the bowels of the theatre, in the narrow backstage corridors, or even the theatre bar (and, of course, the roof). The fourth-wall breaks that often punctuate the end of these short video pieces eally pierce into your soul, looming over you, much like the mood of this whole production.

An example - as Mercutio lay dying, the camera is right in his face so you get the full pain and rage of him as he screams "a plague upon both your houses" and takes his final breaths. All the while, Romeo stands metres away, covered in blood, seething with unbridled rage, tears mixing with the blood of his friend.

The interval moment that follows literally made everyone gasp, a jumpscare that absolutely warrants the gravity of the moment. I won't say more because if there's even a 0.1% chance of you seeing it I don't want it ruined.

The second act of this play is decidedly quieter than the first. Clandestine conversations, whispers between characters, the comedy, gone. The deaths of Thibault and Mercutio loom large as the reality of the consequences kick in. Juliet remains defiant to the last - this is a Juliet who really knows what she wants (supported by Nurse, who is more like an older sister character full of kindness and friendly age-appropriate advice). As the end draws near, and the inevitability of what's about to happen (let's face it, we've all studied it at school, we know what happens!) becomes apparent, the silence in the theatre speaks volumes.

This production challenges you to see the traditional story through a far darker lens, and the blank spaces leave room for the oppressive mood and music to thrive and grow. It asks you to find answers in the quiet as much as the loud. It might be the best known love story of all time but the added weight of the staging proves everything hangs on the final line: "For never was a story of more woe, than this of Juliet and her Romeo."

Now. Acting. And oh boy was there acting. I'm going to start with Mercutio (Joshua-Alexander Williams) and Paris (Daniel Quinn-Toye) - two actors who are in their first professional production. What pressure, and how they dealt with it. Particularly Joshua-Alexander! I thought Tomiwa Edun, who played Capulet, Juliet's father, was immense - so sinister in his delivery, he had me convinced he was head of a family and of a gang empire. And Freema Agyeman as Nurse was wonderful, as I said earlier, giving this big sister energy and providing delighful lighter moments against the shade. HUGE mention to Nima Taleghani who not only was an excellent Benvolio but also edited the original text to make it a 1hr 45 version that was powerful and punchy.

Now, our main stars. Francesca Amewudah-Rivers as Juliet was incredible. She was headstrong, she was poised, she was dynamic and still at the same time. She portrayed a Juliet desperate to be free from the confines of her family, but clear that she knew what she wanted from the love (and escape) she sought. The second act belonged to her, her stillness lingering.

And the reason I fought for a ticket, Tom Holland. I've seen him at film premieres and press events, and twice playing golf, but the opportunity to see him do what (as fans) we all know to be his true calling, was irresistible. And oh my God. Honestly I was blown away by his portrayal. Brooding, emotional, at times so quiet you had to strain to hear his lament. And then rage, euphoria, shyness, a fumbling lovesick idiot. Throughout the production he provides so much range, but also so much depth, it's impossible not to feel everything he does.

To see him, clearly in his element, providing a soul to Romeo that I've never felt before - I couldn't be prouder as a fan. For too long he has been tarred with the brush that he is not a "serious actor". As fans we know that The Devil all the Time, Cherry, and The Crowded Room are proof otherwise. This should be the moment the world realises he is INCREDIBLE, to be taken seriously, to be given the respect he is long overdue.

I wish beyond words that I get to see this play again. I hope at the very least it gets an NT live screening so that fans around the world get to witness this amazing, unique, innovative production.

Violent delights indeed have violent ends.

#tom holland #spoilers #romeo and juliet #romeo montague #jamie lloyd #theatre #west end #shakespeare #francesca amewudah rivers #freema agyeman

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jinchuls-moved · 11 months ago

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𝙴𝚗𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 ˚‧⁺ ･ ˖ ·

╰┈➤ miya atsumu x reader

୨ about ୧ showing up at your house was the last thing you expected him to do; showing up when your husband was home made it far far worse

୨ content ୧ cheating (reader on their husband), angst

୨ notes ୧ i wrote something similar like a year ago on my first blog n wanted to rewrite <33

divider by @/cafekitsune

“Is yer husband home?”

He asks the question before you’d even had the chance to greet him, let alone acknowledge it’s was even him at the door—the man you’d all but ghosted 2 weeks beforehand.

“Atsumu.” Your hushed voice gives him his answer as you slide outside with him, shutting the door behind you. “Why are you here?”

“Why am I here?” He scoffs, “Why have you been ignorin’ me?” Folding his arms across his chest he raises an eyebrow when you start to shush him. “What?” He scoffs again, apparently his favourite sound to accompany the look in his eyes you’re not used to seeing—something you’d never thought would be targeted at you. “Scared he’ll find out?”

“There’s nothing for him to find out.” You hiss, glancing to your front window you pray your husband’s curiosity doesn’t get the better of him tonight—the last thing you want is for your mistake, no matter how big it was, to ruin what you’d begun to fight for; to fix.

“Nothin’.” He repeats with yet another scoff, as though you’d said the most unbelievable thing—to him, maybe it was. “4 months of nothin’. Frequent excuses for nothin’. Nights in my bed, comin’ to my matches and telling me yer marriage was on the ropes. Nothin’.” You’d never heard Atsumu so angry, so hurt.

Your stomach drops and the guilt finds its home, a feeling you’d become more than accustomed to at the sight of your husband. But not ‘Tsumu.

“Atsumu-” Your voice and face soften, and he falters at the sound of his name. Is he allowed to be angry at you, when he knew you were a married woman?

He should have listened when Sakusa warned him you were a bad idea.

“No, no.” He stops you, a hand in the air and a sigh escaping his lips. He might not have the right, but he was angry. At you. “Ya can’t just bat yer eyes and speak nice t’me and expect me to fall at yer feet again.”

“I’m not trying anything ‘Tsumu.” The nickname falls from you as though you hadn’t practically broken his heart. “I don’t want you ‘falling at my feet’ again.” Mocking his choice of words your eyebrows furrowed and what little of you still wanted him around disappeared—since when did he act like this? Even if he was frustrated, he had no right. “This was my decision and I’m sorry if it’s not what you wanted. But he is my husband. I’ve messed up but i’m not willing to make it worse because you want a quick fuck and a free therapy session.”

“That’s not—” his animosity disappears but you don’t care enough to listen to his excuses.

“I don’t care, Atsumu.” Lifting a hand to stop him, you sigh. “Don’t come here again, don’t call, don’t text.” You begin to open your door again, stepping into the entranceway of your home, your voice is as quiet as when you’d started. “If I could turn back time, I’d never have let this happen.”

“Who was it, Love?” He hears the voice of your husband as the door begins to slowly close. Atsumu waits, yearning for your attention; hoping you’ll admit to the secret tryst and tell the man you married he just wasn’t what you needed but that Atsumu was, regardless of anything you’d told him.

But, of course, it never came. The door closed just as he heard your reply: “No one, Hon.” Surely ready to tell him one last white lie—that he was a salesman with a product you had no interest in or a nosy neighbour ready to accuse you of something your husband would never believe.

It’s that moment where Atsumu realises the things he was most scared of was coming true. All the nights he’s spent beside you in bed, spilling his deepest secrets and listening to every worry you had. All the times he’d barely held himself back from telling you just how in love with you he was and begging for you to leave your husband and run away with him—all those intense, aching feelings were his. Not yours.

#𝓈𝒾𝑔𝓃𝑒𝒹 𝑒𝒸𝒽𝑜 ༉‧₊˚.#atsumu x reader #miya atsumu x reader #atsumu angst #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu angst #hq x reader #hq angst

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sunnyrealist · 2 months ago

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Chapter 61: An Extra Butterbeer

The Sun, the Moon, and All Our Stars

Summary and Details…

Previous Chapter Recap/Context: Sebastian was incredibly sweet and took great care of Kate when she had bad cramps. Kate finally set a date to tell her family about Sebastian, and he continues to agonize over how they will react. Sebastian left for two days in the field as a Kelpies gang member (he's a double-agent working for the DMLE on probation). A few chapters back, Sebastian received a response from his old friend, Ruby McKinnon, the "Hero of Hogwarts." She wrote to say that she wanted to catch up and share some information about Anne in person, hoping that Friday evening at the Three Broomsticks would work. In this chapter, that time comes after Kate spends some time recounting what happened when Sebastian came home from two horrific days in the field.

Pairing: 25-year-old, post-Azkaban Sebastian Sallow x 24-year-old Kate Mayflower (my OC), the assistant librarian at Hogwarts

Art Credit: @giselsann-opencommissions 💛

Content warnings: In general, this is rated 18+, so minors should not read or interact with this story. In this chapter, there are emotional moments between friends who have been apart for a long time, but there is also discussion of arson, torture, child endangerment, physical scarring, and the use of Dark curses.

The full chapter is available below the cut; it can also be found on AO3 (link is posted below). Please leave some feedback if possible, especially if you like what you read! 🥰

Chapter 61: An Extra Butterbeer

As Kate places the shortbread biscuits carefully into a basket, her mind wanders back to the previous night.

She had spent the entire evening trying to distract herself from her nerves, praying to the gods that Sebastian would return unharmed. She had paced for about an hour before she finally decided to bake something, to be productive and keep the stress at bay. When she finally set the biscuits on a rack to cool, she heard the door open and close.

Rushing to him, she had pulled him into a tight embrace before she even had a chance to really look him over. He trembled in her arms and began to cry. It had clearly been a horrific couple of days. Sebastian couldn’t even bear to tell her exactly what had happened for a long while.

Kate had run a hot bath. She joined him, and his back sank against her chest. She noticed it right away - a huge new marking that resembled lightning. No one but she would have caught it, camouflaged amongst the endless sea of scars, but she had memorized every contour of his back through sight and touch. She had gasped upon this discovery but quickly covered for it by commenting on the scalding temperature of the water (exactly how he had requested it).

Kissing his head, his neck, his shoulders over and over, she told him how much she loved him, how relieved she was that he was home. She washed his hair, her fingertips tenderly massaging his scalp until he moaned. After some time, she stepped out of the tub to give him some privacy, drying herself off quickly. She set off to put together a comforting meal, a hearty stew with crusty bread. As soon as he finished, she let him melt into her body on the bed.

She didn’t push him to explain what had happened. He opened up on his own accord after spooning together in silence for about ten minutes.

“We were sent out to obtain information. My partner… took it too far. When our target wouldn’t break, we apparated to his house. He had a family, Kate. His wife was out, but his children were inside. My partner forced that man to watch, bound, while he set their home on fire,” Sebastian said very quietly. “It went up in flames so quickly - so much more quickly than I thought it would. I could hear the kids screaming, unable to find a way out. They were too young to have any magic.” He swallowed thickly.

Kate listened in horror, thankful she was cuddling him so he couldn’t see her face.

“That fucking cruel bastard was laughing the whole time,” Sebastian continued. “He kept running around the house like a mad man. He wanted… no, relished in causing harm, in watching it burn. While he was celebrating… I saw an opportunity and took it. I released the man and used a powerful charm to give the children a small path out. They all got away.” He shook his head. “But I don’t know if I’ll ever forget the screaming.”

Her arm tightened around his chest.

“We were punished when we got back to headquarters,” he added. “Severely punished. No matter how many times I have faced the Cruciatus… Merlin, it never gets easier.” He shuddered. “Kate… I thought about you. I thought about you the whole time. I pictured you. I saw you waiting for me outside the cottage. The sun was shining, and you were smiling… You wore a pretty yellow dress with flowers in your hair. You were calling to me, so happy… I was only able to bear it because of you. I wanted to come home.” He took a breath. “The bloody arsonist wasn’t so lucky. He said he couldn’t feel his legs afterwards… and they carried him off. I think he might be paralyzed.” He sniffed, and Kate wondered if he was holding back tears. “Yet another terrible thing I’ve done. Just add it to the long, long list… of why I shouldn’t be here.”

“No,” Kate replied immediately, her tone firm. “No, Bash. You saved those people. You’re a hero. A hero. That man got what he deserved.” She shakes her head. “You probably saved so many more potential victims. He might never be able to hurt anyone else.” She kisses the back of his head. “Bash… You did the right thing. Don’t ever question that.”

She didn’t utter a word when she later saw him down a potion for Dreamless Sleep.

Now, tying a silky white ribbon around the basket’s handle, she glances up to find Sebastian in the kitchen door frame wearing nothing but a towel around his waist, his hair still damp.

“I… can’t decide what to wear,” he confesses. “I don’t want to be overdressed, but I want to make a good impression… I haven’t seen them in so long.”

“I’ll help,” she replies, and follows him to the bedroom.

An hour later, Sebastian and Kate approach the Three Broomsticks hand-in-hand. Sebastian’s blue tie is a perfect compliment to Kate’s slightly softer blue dress. She carries the gift basket carefully.

“Ready?” she asks, searching his face.

“Ready,” he replies, taking a deep breath and opening the door.

His chocolate eyes adjust to the dim light and scan the pub for his friend. Kate trails him, also searching.

Sebastian doesn’t see Ruby at first, but he hears her. Her distinct laughter rises high, and it draws him. He strides confidently to find her sitting at a round table with Poppy in a somewhat hidden corner.

Ruby’s eyes go wide the moment he appears. Her mouth falls open. She rises, striding over to Sebastian, and without a word, hugs him and doesn’t let go for a long while. “Sebastian?” she asks in a hushed tone, pulling back to look at him. “Is that really you?”

He nods. “It’s me.”

“I still can’t believe it. I really thought I’d never see you again,” she murmurs. “But I never forgot you. Never.”

“Likewise,” he replies, still a bit stunned that this is actually happening.

Kate had not been sure what to expect when it came to Ruby’s appearance, but now that she is observing her, she cannot help but find Ruby quite pretty - a striking and unique beauty. It was no wonder that Sebastian had fancied her in their youth. Her unnatural, purple-red hair is pulled into a low bun, where she seems to keep her wand, her forehead covered by bangs. Her eyes appear brown at first, but as the light hits them, they become a deep crimson. She wears a plain, conservative white blouse, and, like her eyes, her gray skirt is not actually what it seems - it is actually a pair of pantaloons over black dragonhide boots. She has freckles just like Sebastian, and from her skin tone, it’s clear she spends a lot of time outdoors in the sun..

Kate watches intently until Poppy appears, standing before her. “Hi, Kate. I don’t know if you remember me, but I remember you. I recall seeing you and your friends in the common room many, many times over the years. Your group always seemed to have so much fun.”

Kate wants to continue listening to the exchange between Ruby and Sebastian out of curiosity but politely tears her attention away and smiles warmly at her old housemate. “Hi! I remember you, too! It’s good to see you.”

Her face tan and freckled, Poppy appears as though she’s just a year out of Hogwarts. The only obvious difference in appearance is her hair. It’s shorter, just about chin-length. She is dressed in a fashion similar to Ruby, but her clothing somehow looks a bit more feminine and soft.

“Funny how things work out. Who knew we’d end up with these two?” Poppy gestures at the two former Slytherins. She gazes at Ruby with obvious affection, a smile on her face.

“Indeed! Who knew…” Kate echoes with a laugh. “Have you been here long?”

“We came early to have dinner,” she replies. “We were hoping to see Sirona, but we seem to have missed her.”

“She’s on holiday,” Kate explains. “It’s an annual thing with her friends.” She pauses, then realizes that Poppy is staring at the basket in Kate’s hand. “Oh! This is for both of you. I baked some shortbread biscuits. I hope you like them.”

Taking the basket, she beams. “Thanks! We’re seeing my Gran tomorrow, and she loves shortbread. This will be perfect! We’ll all enjoy biscuits with tea.”

The two of them glance back at their partners, who seem deep in conversation.

“Shall we grab butterbeers for the table?” Poppy suggests, nodding towards the bar.

“Sure!”

When the two of them return to the table, Sebastian and Ruby have finally sat down. Poppy places the serving tray on the table as Kate settles into a chair. Each person grabs a mug of butterbeer, and they clink their vessels with smiles on their faces.

Sebastian glances back at the serving tray, looking puzzled. “There’s an extra…”

Kate didn’t even notice earlier. She looks to Poppy, who in turn faces Ruby.

“I… actually invited another friend - someone I haven’t had a chance to see in a long while,” Ruby explains nonchalantly. “I hope that’s alright.”

Sebastian frowns, disappointed that the night couldn’t have been focused on just the two of them catching up. Kate touches his arm in a comforting gesture, and her eyes try to communicate a message - that it’s alright and that this won’t be the only time they’ll get to visit. He quickly recovers, putting on a neutral face. “It’s alright.”

“Oh!” Ruby exclaims, her eyes lighting up in recognition of someone. “In fact… he’s here right now!”

Kate and Sebastian turn around.

Sebastian’s hand flies to his mouth, covering it in shock.

She doesn’t recognize the man standing nearby, scanning the room with unseeing milky blue eyes and an outstretched ebony wand, blinking red. He’s rather tall, thin, and pale with long blonde hair pulled into an elegant ponytail. His fashion sense is impeccable - his long, dark coat is tailored and is finished with a velvet trim. He looks exactly like someone Kate’s mum would set her up with.

“O- Ominis,” Sebastian gasps, rising from his seat.

Kate’s brow furrows. How…?

“Sebastian,” Ominis replies. “I…”

“Ominis,” Sebastian repeats, a bit louder, striding towards him and taking in his expression. He reaches out and hugs him tightly.

Ominis is tense for a moment, but then he reciprocates.

“It’s so good to see you,” Sebastian chokes out, trying to hold back tears, but he quickly begins to sob in happiness, his shoulders rising and falling intermittently.

“I never got your letter,” Ominis tells him, “but Ruby contacted me this week and told me the news - that you had been released from Azkaban. I couldn’t believe it. We had tried so many times to…” He trails off, looking thoughtful.

Ruby approaches her friends. “I knew Ominis would not have ignored your letter. I knew there had to be some kind of mistake - that something must have gone wrong.”

Ominis drapes his arm over Sebastian’s shoulder. Sebastian can’t stop looking at him, still crying.

“Look at us,” Ruby says with a smile. “Reunited at last.”

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actiniumwrites · 1 year ago

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𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐀𝐋𝐂𝐀𝐙𝐀𝐑𝐙𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐘

synopsis: you and kaveh were best friends for years, studying together at the akademiya and working side by side as established architects. after the devastating incident at the palace of alcazarzaray that leads to a harsh falling out, neither of you have seen each other for years. it isn’t until one day, when a multi-millionaire offers the two of you a job that could flip your lives around, that you’re forced to reconcile and maybe even become something more

characters: kaveh x gn! reader

wc: 10k

warnings: angst, fluff, ex best friends to lovers, arguments, drinking, mentions of vomiting and blacking out, mentions of being drunk/ tipsy/ alcohol in general (nothing major), swearing, inaccurate and unrealistic depictions of architecture, probably general writing errors (since this is 10k words and i’m not proofreading it three times)

notes: um so basically i got this idea one day when i was staring at the genshin map and then suddenly an entire plot just entered my brain. and y’all know i love writing fics that somehow shove the reader into the lore and then have a super angsty dynamic with one of the characters 💀 anyway, this somehow ended up being like 10k words and took me 3-4 months to finish, but i told myself i had to finish it before fontaine came out, so here it is!

“Delivery!”

The sound of beads being pushed aside and footsteps padding against the wood floors alert you quickly. Your head rises from the arm it was leaning on to meet the face of the mailman who never failed to show up weekly with a smile on his face. It’s friday and it’s dark out, the moon peers through the window, but this happens every week. Same day, same time. Always the last delivery. Always at 8 PM sharp.

Your hand reaches to the left to dip the pen you’re holding into the black liquid in the tiny pot by your elbow. Without hesitation, you’re signing off on the sheet of paper he’s given you. When you return it, you find him giving you a smile and placing the boxes and a few neatly stacked envelopes on the counter. He walks out soon after and you call out to him, “Thanks for stopping by!”

But as soon as he’s out of your eyesight, the smile on your face drops back into the bored expression it was in before he entered your shop. A sigh escapes you as you carelessly sort through the mail, tossing the boxes to the side to look through later, already knowing it was just shipments of product for your tiny store. If you were being honest, you were ready to just set all of it to the side and head home for the night, but you carried on. Dark bags and gentle creases made theirselves at home around your eyes as you stared down at the envelopes. A deep exhale falls from your mouth as you tear each and every one of them open to look at their contents. Most of it is nothing new, aside from the very last one that has bright red peeking through the paper.

EVICTION NOTICE

“Fuck,” you angrily mutter to yourself, “this better be some sort of sick joke.” But it becomes very apparent it isn’t a joke as your eyes scan over it. There’s a burning sensation behind them when you finish reading it. It lands harshly against the counter when you slam it down, crumpling a bit at the middle. You knew you were barely making ends meet, but this? This was a whole new level. The house you had been renting was small. It barely even fit you and the little things you had left after selling most of it off. The rent was cheaper and the place wasn’t great, but it worked. If you were being evicted from this, where were you supposed to go now?

The shop you had was too small and wasn’t safe for sleeping in anyway. The thought of crashing at one of your friend’s place crosses your mind, but having to rely on them sounds less than appealing. Besides, many of them would be far too inconvenient. Tighnari had been a long time friend of yours, but he lived too far from the city which meant you wouldn’t be able to get to work on time. Same with Candace, or even Dehya, who resided in the desert. Of course, there was Nilou who was always wiling to offer you help, but you know her place isn’t big enough for two people and she needed her space for dancing. Then there was Alhaitham. That option was an absolute no for many reasons, but mainly because of the fact that he lives with your ex-best friend who was the entire reason you were in this mess.

“Ahem,” someone awkwardly clears their throat in front of you.

You jump back and away from the counter where the cursed piece of paper sat. The notice had completely distracted you from the fact that someone had walked in. Noticing you had knocked down an envelope in your sudden retreat, you reach down to pick it up while addressing the person, “I apologize, but we’re closing in around two minutes. I’m afraid you’ll have to come back tomor—“

Your sentence falls short as you rise from the floor. Red eyes stare back at yours, one of the prettiest shades of red you have ever seen. You could never forget those eyes.

Speak of the Devil.

The blood in your body runs cold when reality finally smacks you in the face, “Why are you here, Kaveh.”

It’s less of a question and more of a demand. You watch as his brows furrow and you can’t help but wonder if he was expecting you to be friendly with him. If he was, it wouldn’t surprise you. Kaveh was always like that — trying to see the best in people no matter the situation.

“It’s…uh, it’s been awhile,” he stumbles over his words awkwardly. It’s unlike him, you think. From what you can remember of him, he never really stuttered or mumbled unless he was drunk. Loud and clear was always more of his thing. He wanted to make sure he was known. Maybe he changed, but for the sake of his own good, you really wish he hasn’t.

“Yeah, it has,” you purse your lips as you turn around and take the boxes the delivery man had brought to the tiny back room of the shop. Earlier you decided you would deal with them tomorrow, but honestly, you’d rather deal with them right now than with your ex-best friend, “I won’t ask again. Why are you here?”

Kaveh clears his throat and averts his eyes. You watch as his hands begin to interlock and fiddle with each other. His weight keeps shifting from one side to another as he speaks, “I need your help.”

You look at him incredulously and scoff, “No.”

“What? You haven’t even heard what I have to say yet!”

“I said no,” you stand firmly, furrowing your brows at him as you gesture to the shop around you, “Don’t you see what my life has become? I don’t care what you want or need help with, I’m not helping you.”

Kaveh glances around at all the little shelves. There’s a bunch of tiny models and little figurines, things he assumes you designed yourself. You were always talented at that sort of stuff. He preferred the flat blueprints while you had a knack for creating 3D models filled with details like no other. It was no wonder you had used that ability to your advantage.

He notices how small it is. There’s other vendors around your shop, he noticed them as he came in. They all had bigger shops with more shelves and more room, better organization even. He liked yours though. As much as Kaveh enjoyed extravagance, the warm home vibe your store gave outmatched the others. It reminded him so much of the way you made him feel back then. Even so, he can’t help but see what you were talking about. This store isn’t what your talent should be wasted on when you were destined for far more. Both of you were. Yet here you are, both barely scraping by.

“I know and I don’t really have the right to be asking you for this, but will you please just hear me out first?” He begs with desperation in his eyes. You sigh and look off to the side before giving him a slight nod, a gesture for him to continue on.

“There’s a man named Zakai, a multi-millionaire businessman here in Sumeru who’s looking to have a custom mansion made for himself and his pregnant wife,” he explains. It’s beginning to sound all too familiar far too quickly and you can feel your willingness to let him explain slipping away from you.

“Kaveh.”

“Just listen, okay. He sought me out but wanted you too. Said something about admiring our work on the Palace of Alcazarzaray and he wants something similar but smaller with a different look.”

“Are you joking? No. There’s no way,” you refuse, waving your hands in the air as you shake your head.

Kaveh continues to plead his case though, “He’s not like Dori, I swear! He actually has empathy and his request is a lot more reasonable. Besides, there’s a lot of money involved in this. Even split between us. It would cover the debt we owe. Guaranteed.”

“You’re empathetic, Kaveh, and you’re a perfectionist. Millionaires don’t care about us. Can’t you see where this is heading? I don’t know about you, but I am not very fond of the fact that I’m wasting my life away trying to work off an insane amount of debt. What happens if another mistake occurs in the process? Hm? Our lives will be ruined ten times more than they were last time and I’m not willing to take that risk.”

“Ten times worse? Really?” He exasperatedly scoffs, throwing his hands up in the air dramatic as ever, “Of course I hate how I live right now. I mean, c’mon! Honestly, who wouldn’t? But you and I both know we don’t really have anything left. Take a look around you and tell me you wouldn’t take the chance to get out of this mess.”

The glare you’re sending him is icy cold, Kaveh falters a bit under it, but you both know he’s right. There’s a plate full of money right in front of your face and you’re so close to being able to call it yours, and yet you’re denying it? A life without debt is nothing but a dream to you at this point, one you’ve had nightly since you watched all your money slide away from you and down into Dori’s mischievous little hands.

Kaveh tests the waters when he speaks again after the brief silence, “You’re the only other architect in Sumeru that is capable of working on this job. You saw what we accomplished on the palace. We can do it again, no mistakes this time. And if it does happen…then I’ll take the fall for it. I’ll take the fall for all of it.”

Your brows furrow and you sigh for what felt like the thousandth time. The small part of you that was his best friend from all those years ago reaches out to him, “You know I can’t accept that, Kaveh. We may not be friends anymore, but I’m not going to watch you destroy yourself all over again if something goes wrong.”

“Please,” he pleads, entirely brushing off your words, “I’m doing this for the both of us. If you want out at any point, then we’ll back out together. Just…consider the offer, okay?”

The red from the letter catches your eye again and something suddenly feels like it’s pulling at your heart. An eviction notice followed by a job offer promising wealth feels like one big coincidence, but it’s not one you can ignore. You really didn’t have anything left now — aside from the tiny store you had going. And if this does turn out to be a success, your life would be entirely back on track to what it was all those years ago. You could live freely again.

One more glance at Kaveh finalizes your decision.

“I’ll do it.”

The next few times you meet with Kaveh seem to bleed well into the night. Blueprints are scattered across the floor of your shop during the after hours, a closed sign out front. Your legs are crossed over one another and your head rests atop your hand. Kaveh is standing up, muttering words you can’t quite make out.

“No…that won’t do, but…well? Dark wood? Ugh…wait! No, nevermind,” he paces back and forth, sifting through papers in his hands.

You place the outline you were looking at on the floor and glare at him coldly, “Can you stop? I can’t focus.”

Kaveh sighs and sets down the blueprints he was holding in his hand, “Sorry, I just can’t make up my mind.”

“Clearly,” you mutter.

“Here,” he picks up a pile of sketches off the table and hands them to you, “What do you think of the wood choices on these? Oh, and the color of the paint we’d use on the outside.”

Your eyes inspect them carefully as you flip through each one. They’re all relatively the same aside from a few of them. The ones that stand out the most to you are the simple ones. They’re darker and more elegant looking, exactly what this guy seemed to want. On the other hand, the rest of them are more flashy and had an air to them you couldn’t seem to take a liking to.

You slide him two of the papers, side by side and tap each of them simultaneously, “These two. They’re cost effective and fit what he wants. I say we go this route, but maybe with some slight changes.”

“What? No! Those should’ve been scrapped,” Kaveh’s eyes widen at your choice. He scrambles to grab the papers back but you slam your hand down on them before he can.

You squint your eyes, “What do you mean? These practically check everything off his list. How are we going to deny the client what he wants?”

Kaveh groans and a hand slides down his face, “These don’t even look rich. It barely screams money at all! We’re making a house for a rich man and you want to do something this simple?”

“Yes! This is literally what he wants! And it does look rich. Just because something isn’t bursting with color and fancy embellishments everywhere does not mean it doesn’t have opulence to it!”

Kaveh’s face visibly falls at your response and he can’t help but be reminded of all those years ago when you were still friends. Sure you still argued then, but it wasn’t like now. You weren’t hostile toward him and he could stand to make some changes based on your suggestions. But now, it felt like everything was going in one ear and out the other.

“What if we compromise?” he asks regretfully, not willing to give up what he wants, but still wanting to get this job done. Contrary to his cynical and provocative roommate, arguing was not something Kaveh enjoyed, and Kaveh didn’t want to strain your relationship any more than it already was.

You hesitantly nod and point to each of the sketches, “Okay, which parts?”

“Keep it extravagant, use cheaper materials?”

“No, I just said that isn’t what Mr. Zakai wants.”

“Well then what are we supposed to do?”

You roll your eyes when he isn’t looking. Sometimes it felt like you were arguing with a child.

“Simple. Choose the more plain design and maybe add a few more embellishments, while keeping it cost effective.”

Kaveh inwardly groans, but stops himself from saying anything else. He thinks for a moment, going back and forth between different ideas in his head. There’s a temptation to just grab the sketches and run off with them, leave you in the dust and forget all about your past with each other. It’s the same part of him that sits on his shoulder, whispering in his ear that maybe, just maybe, all of this is a mistake.

The other part yearns. It’s something he can’t help as he stares down at the sketches, but really, he’s looking at you from his peripheral vision. He misses the way things were when you were best friends. When you would laugh for hours on end with each other, talk about the big mansions you would build for each other some day, and the lives you were going to have. All of those visions, every thought he used to have, they all included you.

Kaveh doesn’t remember when things got so bad between you. Yes he knows the exact date, the time, the place it all went down. But when did you start really hating each other? When did your smile begin to fade into a frown whenever he showed up? And when did he start feeling a painful ache in his chest whenever your name was mentioned?

Why do things have to be the way they are?

Kaveh shuts the door in the temptation’s face. He wasn’t going to run from you or shove everything aside like he normally would. If he was granted any wish in the world, it wouldn’t be to get rid of his debt or become the richest man in the world. Because Kaveh would let himself he the poorest man in the world if it meant he could be with you again.

Mr. Zakai had come to him with an opportunity of wealth and opulence. It would make them one in the same if he could play his cards right. Wipe away his debt and his past. He could be free again. But more than that, Kaveh would have you back.

And as his ruby red eyes catch yours once more, he realizes there is nothing more that he wants than you.

“Wow, I mean, Archons. This design is just unbelievable.”

Your eyes widen ever so slightly, not quite sure if you should be scared or relieved. Mr. Zakai’s tone doesn’t give away what he’s feeling, and you’re terrified. Kaveh swears he can feel you shaking next to him in anticipation…or maybe it was the anxiety. He glances once your way and then back to Mr. Zakai before glancing at you again and awkwardly laughing, “Ahaha, I hope that’s a, uh, good ‘unbelievable?’”

Mr. Zakai throws his hands in the air and laughs brightly, “Yes, yes! Of course! This design is utterly beautiful. It’s like you took the picture from my mind and captured it right onto a piece of paper.”

Both of you sigh of relief simultaneously, clutching a hand over your hearts, but smiling nonetheless. “That’s wonderful to hear,” you say and gesture to the open land behind you that has long since been designated as the construction site for his home, “If you’d like, we can get to building as soon as possible. We already have a team prepared and everything. Just say the word.”

“Let us begin!” he cheers.

Beginning to build the actual mansion was like a dream come true for an architect. The smoothness at which everything was running was beyond belief for the both of you. All of the materials had been safely delivered with care, and although they weren’t the best of the best, they without a doubt exceeded Kaveh’s expectations. Alongside that, the plot of land being used was absolutely beautiful and the perfect place for a home.

It was a perfect distance from the main city, nothing too arduous to travel to. There was a beautiful lake nearby that was adorned with various flowers, fish, and fruit trees surrounding it. And the best part, there weren’t any cliffs or waterfalls nearby. No signs of a withering zone either. It was something Kaveh had specifically checked for before accepting the job, terrified of having a repeat of the entire incident that put you both in this mess.

It had only taken around a week and a half for the skeleton of the mansion to be built. But already, it was turning out wonderfully. Thanks to the team both of you had and your newfound ability to compromise with one another, both of your guys’ morale had been boosted immensely. Things were finally beginning to look up.

“It’s beautiful,” you whisper in awe, staring at the team working on the house just feet away from you. Kaveh stands next to you, clipboard in hand and a pen eagerly scribbling away at the paper on it.

His eyes look up from the papers he was shuffling through to glance at the house and then glance back at you, “It really is, huh? I’m glad we were able to compromise on the final design. I think it’s turning out really great.”

“And to think you wanted all those embellishments,” you laugh as you reminisce.

Kaveh scoffs and leans into your shoulder with his, “Shut up. Sometimes the blueprint version isn’t a good representation of the final product. How was I supposed to know your ideas would look so good?”

“Oh? What was that?” you cup your hand around your ear and smirk, leaning into him, “Is that you finally admitting my ideas are better than yours?”

“Hey! That is not what I said.”

“I think it is. Just admit it, my dear friend, I have always been the better architect.”

My dear…friend?

Kaveh stops in his place, blinking at your words. He breathes out and looks to the ground. He isn’t sure what you mean. Perhaps it was a slip up or just a joke, but he chooses not to take it seriously in order to protect his feelings. So he teases you, ignoring the slight ache in his heart, “Oh, so now we’re friends again?”

“Ugh, please. I couldn’t be friends with an architect that isn’t on my level,” you jest. It was indeed a slip up on your end, and you realized it the moment you said it, but like Kaveh, you knew it would be better to just brush it off. Push it aside along with any other newfound positive feelings you had toward your old friend.

“Pft, yeah right,” he rolls his eyes and turns away from you again. You both begin walking toward the house, ready to tell everyone that it’s time to pack it up for the night. The sun would be completely set in about an hour and you knew they all had families to get back to. Besides, both of you were tired and you weren’t even the ones building the damn thing. You couldn’t imagine how tired they were if you were already feeling exhausted.

Footsteps dragging against the gravel alerts the crew of your presence and they all realize what time it is. Several of them hop down from the upper layers while the rest of them begin picking up their things from the ground floor. Many of them already begin to bid one another a “goodnight,” and “get home safely.”

“Great work today, guys!” you excitedly call out to them.

Kaveh smiles a bit and joins you, clapping his hands together as he reminds them, “Please go home and get some rest. We have a busy rest of the week from here on out! We’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

Before either of you can walk away, one of the girls that was working on the building rushes up to you both, “Sorry to interrupt, I just wanted to let you guys know about the progress.”

You recognize her as one of the leaders for the construction crew when you turn around. She was in charge of the more specific areas of progress when it came to the actual building aspect, while you and Kaveh had oversight on the entire thing.

“Oh?” Kaveh confusedly asks, unsure of what she had to share, “What about it? Is something the matter?”

“No, no! Nothing bad. I just wanted to let you know that at this rate, the house should be completed within three months. We’re making an exponentially great amount of progress, especially with the wonderful crew we have working on it. You guys should be proud of yourselves,” she smiles.

You and Kaveh quickly turn and high-five each other, pleased with what she was saying. But as quick as it came, it was gone. Simultaneously, you clear your throats and take a step back from one another.

“Ahem, I um — thank you! That means a lot,” you say through a strained smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. Kaveh doesn’t say anything.

Instantly, the girl can feel the awkward tension in the air and takes a step back herself.

“Of course, I’ll uh, be going now. Have a goodnight!”

When she walks off, Kaveh turns back to you hesitantly, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to do that.”

“Let’s just pretend that never happened, yeah?”

He hums in agreement and starts to walk alongside you, “But, hey, I was thinking. She is right, you know? We should be proud of our progress so far. Maybe we could go to the tavern tonight? But only if you want, of course!”

You pause, but nod slowly, “Yeah…yeah okay. We can do that.”

“Really?” Kaveh tilts his head to the side, not quite believing you.

“Sure,” you shrug, not thinking too much into it, “Let’s go.”

You could feel the alcohol running through your system as you spoke, laughing along with some stupid story you were telling. Kaveh and you had been at the tavern for nearly two hours and it had long since been dark outside. You didn’t even get the chance to change out of your work clothes before getting there.

It didn’t take long for either of you to find a glass of alcohol sitting in front of you alongside a bunch of different dishes. Although neither of you really had the money to spending like this, it was a congratulatory meal and you couldn’t help but splurge a little.

“I know! Oh my god,” you slur a bit, “Do you…do you remember that time that one guy in our class plagiarized his entire project all the way down to the 3-D model? What was his name again? Bahar? No, that wasn’t it…”

“Oh, Baharak!” Kaveh exclaims, jumping from his seat a little and pointing at you before sitting back down. Leaning against his seat, he lets out a nostalgic sigh, “Archons, how could I forget that guy?”

“Baharak, yeah! Man, I can’t believe he really thought he wouldn’t get expelled for that,” you say and take another sip of your drink.

Kaveh hums in agreement and takes another bite of his food, “Wait, do you remember that professor we had? The one that took my library book away?”

“Really? You’ll have to refresh my memory again,” you say, struggling to connect memories together. Neither of you were drunk, but you were sure as hell getting there. Lambad already had to tell both of you to ease up on the drinks, aware that you both had work the next day. But truly, he just didn’t want you making a ruckus in his tavern again.

It had been years since you both visited together, but he could never forget the messes you made when you were both students at the Akademiya. The days where you would drink until you blacked or vomited, the nights spent drunk crying over bad grades or shitty professors, or the time you accidentally fell asleep on the bathroom floor and he didn’t realize until after closing because Kaveh was too drunk to realize you even left. It was safe to say that you weren’t his favorite customers, despite being fully grown adults now. Lambad was not willing to have repeats of any of those incidents.

It continues on for another hour or so, just sharing stupid stories from the past and what your friendship used to be like. It almost feels as though you are friends again, even if it’s just for a brief moment.

Your smile is wide when you’re talking to him and your laugh isn’t some fake laugh that you always use when someone comes into your store or when you’re talking to literally anyone else. Your legs are bumping into his under the table too, contrary to a few years ago when he was much shorter. It’s weird, you think, how much everything has changed.

It’s not until someone at a table nearby makes a comment about you two that you really digest just how weird it all is.

“Look at that cute couple over there,” they say in awe from somewhere behind you, “Don’t you miss when we used to be like that?”

Within seconds you feel sobered up. It almost embarrasses you how one much one small comment could have an effect on you. Your heart drops into your stomach and your laughter fades out. This isn’t right, you think. You can laugh and drink all you want, but it doesn’t change what happened all those years ago. It doesn’t change the incident or the things Kaveh said to you that night or the things you said to him. It doesn’t change how hard you cried and how your life suddenly went from being on a high to dropping to the lowest you’ve ever been. You can barely survive day to day because of that day…because of him.

No. It doesn’t change anything at all.

You stand up abruptly and grab your bag, slamming some mora onto the table and glancing around hurriedly before beginning to walk out on him. Kaveh stands up too and goes to reach for your arm, but you pull away before he can make contact with it, “Hey, what’s wrong? Where are you going?”

“I can’t do this,” you mumble to yourself, rushing away out of fear.

“Can’t do what?” Kaveh’s eyes are bursting with confusion and terrified that he may have done something wrong. Something to upset you. But you’re already out of the building before he can get an answer.

It had been about a week before you saw each other again. Luckily for you, it wasn’t required that you were at the build site as long as one of you was there. And with Kaveh’s naturally perfectionistic personality, you knew you weren’t needed there. He was also smart enough to not coming looking for you either after everything that had occurred not only earlier that week, but in the years prior. There was a reason you got along so well before everything came crashing down.

No one knew you guys like you knew each other. There was no doubt about that.

The time you had been gone in the past week was spent running your store, something you had been neglecting anyway. Despite it not being the most successful business ever, it was something and you still had customers to take care of.

Today had been rather slow, being a Thursday and all. Most people were out working their other jobs and kids were in school, so there weren’t really many people to be out shopping anyway.

Aggressive footsteps catch your attention, but you don’t bother to look up at whoever had just entered, figuring it was probably some elderly guy again there to scold you like the one last week.

“Welcome in, I’ll be with you in a moment,” you call out from your spot at the counter, signing away at some documents for the store. The footsteps don’t stop and look around, however. Instead, they march right up the counter and slam your binder shut.

“Is this seriously what you’ve been doing? I get it I may have pissed you off or whatever at Lambad’s earlier this week, but leaving me at the site like that is just shallow,” a familiar voice scolds you. You look up to see Kaveh seething. Although, the longer you look in his eyes, the more you see he’s less angry and more terrified. Of what? You’re unsure.

For a moment, you have the urge to extend a hand out to him and ask him what’s wrong, but you catch yourself before you can. Besides, it would defeat the entire purpose of you being at your store instead of the mansion. Instead you scoff, regaining your anger for him, “Okay? It’s not like you really needed me there this week. All the crew is doing is just finishing the skeleton. Stop acting like something bad happened or whatever.”

Kaveh purses his lips and leans closer to you, leveling his eyes with yours. The seriousness in them is unmistakable and it shakes you a bit. You haven’t seen him like that since…well, since that day. “That’s the thing…something did happen. I came here to tell you abo—”

“What?” You cut him off, eyes widening.

“Stop,” he hushes you angrily, “Please for the love of God just listen for once. Something happened to Zakai’s wife. I came here to tell you that we need to meet with him today because it’s urgent and I barely know what’s going on myself. So please, just put our differences aside and come with me.”

Your lips shut themselves before they can speak again. There’s shock in your eyes at his slight outburst, but you gulp and nod at him. Picking up the binder from earlier, you slide it under the counter in one of the locked drawers before walking around to the other side where Kaveh stands. A quick glance around and you’re walking out of the store. Without hesitation, you flip the sign that reads open to the side that reads closed.

And although you weren’t the firmest believer in the Gods or any part of Celestia, you bowed your head and prayed to the Dendro Archon that this wasn’t what you thought it was.

Your leg bounces in anticipation as you sit next to Kaveh at the Cafe. It’s dark out, and there aren’t a lot of people around which you’re grateful for. There was a certain nervousness in the air and you weren’t ready to find out where it was going to take you.

“Thank you for meeting with me,” Mr. Zakai says sadly and sits down, sliding you both a mug with what you presume is tea. Kaveh thanks him and bumps his knee with yours from next to you.

You fall out of your thoughts and clear your throat, “Oh, uh, yeah. Of course.”

He looks down at his lap solemnly, seemingly speechless. You turn to Kaveh who’s sitting on your right and frown at him. Kaveh returns the expression but nods his head, wordlessly telling you to just wait and see. You nod back and turn to sip at your tea.

Mr. Zakai’s voice is shaky when he speaks again moments later, “I…I don’t know where to begin. I suppose I should just get to the point so I don’t waste your time.”

You both wait in silence, urging him to continue. Practically waiting on the edge of your seats at this point.

“I have to suspend the project.”

You swear you can feel your heart drop into your stomach as you breathlessly whisper a tiny, “What?”

Kaveh turns to you quickly to gauge your reaction before turning back and swallowing deeply, “I’m sorry, could you please explain what’s going on here? I mean, c’mon, we barely started this thing and now you’re backing out?”

He waves his hands in the air and coughs, “No, no! I…I’m not backing out, dear God, no. I just, I need to wait a bit. It’s my wife, she’s with a family doctor. You see, she’s pregnant and there’s been some terrible complications. I’m afraid she’s fallen ill and I can’t afford to be spending my time building some mansion when she needs me.”

“How long?” you ask firmly, “How long are you suspending this?”

“I don’t know, I’m sorry,” he regretfully apologizes.

Kaveh tries to stay calm but you can feel him shaking next to you. His hands shakily put down the tea cup and he shuts his eyes while he speaks, almost like this is just one big nightmare that he can’t wake up from, “What does this mean for us? The crew? The materials we bought?”

Zakai stutters and sighs over and over again before he can get anything out, “I promise I will pay you…eventually. I have medical bills to pay and for now, I can’t pay either of you.”

“So what? You’re just leaving us then?!” You push him further.

“I’m sorry, really, I am,” he stands up and backs away slowly, “I need to go visit my wife. We’ll chat again soon.”

Hurriedly, he rushes off before either of you get the chance to go after him. Your breathing is heavy and labored, but neither of you move from your seats. There’s a lump in your throat, one you’re desperately trying to push down as you whisper, “I should have never agreed to this.”

“Hey, it’s not over yet,” Kaveh tries to reason as he places a hand on your shoulder. You shrug him off and stand up, shaking your head as you turn around to walk away.

Kaveh quickly springs from his seat and rushes to catch up with you. He pleads with you desperately, “I didn’t know this was going to happen, I swear. This is all my fault.”

“Yeah, it is,” you spat at him, stopping in your tracks and turning to him, “That’s the problem with you, Kaveh. Wherever you go, bad luck just seems to follow. I should’ve known better, honestly. You’d think after all these years I would’ve been smarter. And now…now my life is even more ruined than it was before. Thanks a lot.”

“You know what? No. You agreed to this, so you don’t get to treat me like dirt on your shoe just because something went wrong. Don’t you realize my life is just as ruined as yours is? You’re not the only one with problems!” He yells suddenly, taking a step forward toward you. A few people stop and stare but quickly keep moving when you turn and glare at them.

“My life was ruined in seconds!” You dig your pointer finger into his chest as you match his volume.

“Yeah? Well so was mine! You’re not the only one who’s been suffering all this time.”

Silence washes over both of you. You take a step back from him and remove your hand from his chest hesitantly, angry tears beginning to sting your eyes. Kaveh feels the same prickliness too, a dull ache in his chest as he stands before you. This wasn’t what either of you wanted deep down, and you realize that as you turn and walk away from him again.

There were so many moments of failure in Kaveh’s life, but you had an equal share as well. Yet, for some reason, neither of you realized the other was hurting just as much. Perhaps, like Kaveh, the real reason you accepted the project was so you could rekindle your friendship, bring back a relationship you missed dearly.

You look up at the moon as you walk away, leaving him somewhere behind you where you don’t care to look back to. And as you stare at its presence in the sky, you can’t help but feel like it was just like you and him. He was the sun, and you were the moon. Beautiful in their own ways, but bound by fate to never exist at the same time. Never to coexist.

Maybe this time, the tiny thread that still connected you had finally tethered for good.

The day it all happened was both blurry and clear in your memories.

That day.

Everything seemed to irk you from the moment you awoke that morning. The sheets on your bed weren’t quite placed right. The temperature in your house was miserably warm, even worse, humid after you accidentally left your window open the night before. The ingredients you had planned on using for your favorite breakfast had miraculously grown mold overnight. Not to mention, you were already late five minutes to the build site and everyone knew how particular Dori was about being punctual.

The clouds were a depressing gray from what you could remember. The rain was normally one of your favorite things. After all, you chose to live in the rainforest for a reason. But that day, the gloomy sight stirred a sense of anger in you that was impossible to shake.

You could remember the way Kaveh was avoiding you in the weeks leading up to it all. It was justified in your eyes because well, you were avoiding him too. Neither of you seemed to be able to stand the constant arguments that would break out between you. Most of them were pointless too — small things that could be resolved without a bunch of yelling and insults. Yet, every time you looked at him, every time he spoke, every time he even breathed, you felt anger seep into your blood.

At that point, the both of you had worked on several projects together. Houses, libraries, stores, gardens, you name it. The Palace of Alcazarzaray was the first real project you had both worked on. It was big, flashy, and was going to make a statement about your capabilities to all of Sumeru. Fame and riches were plastered all over the opportunity. The magnum opus of both of your careers.

It was this very reason that you both fought so often. There was so much to plan. So much to work on. At first, things had gone well considering you were both great friends — the best of friends, even. Any outsider or non-architect would probably make the naive assumption that, if anything, it would bring you even closer together. But with so much pressure, the opposite happened and you grew apart. The conflict was too much to handle on either side and you couldn’t keep up with it. Neither of you could.

The rain was bothersome when it started.

It started with a few drops here and there. You could remember hastily wiping them from your hands and face before peering up at the sky with a frown. Within a mere few seconds, the sprinkling rain became aggressive and thunderous. Lightning flashed in your eyes as the afternoon sky faded from a light gray to a deep blue and black.

It was hard to hear the yelling of all the crew members over the rumbling of the thunder overhead. The water below the structure began to thrash rapidly and the cliffs had a slight shake to them. Up until that part, everything was clear to you.

Then the rain was in your eyes and your breathing was heavy as you aimlessly ran around. Eventually, everyone had evacuated the site to a nearby area. Everything had happened so fast you couldn’t even remember how you ended up there, wrapped in a blanket and shivering in the corner of a small tent with a few other people. Soon after, everyone got sent home for the afternoon in a bad mood.

It wasn’t until hours later that a majority of the crew had returned. Your heart dropped within the first few steps you took as the palace came into sight. What had once been turning out to be a luxurious palace was crumbled down into nothing but ruins. Forest Rangers surrounded the place, evaluating it and dragging some equipment away. As soon as Tighnari spotted you, he jogged over to you, carefully explaining what happened.

After the rain, the withering made its way to the house and destroyed just about everything. Within hours, everything you had been working toward for months vanished out of thin air. Kaveh had been walking up to the both of you when the news was relayed to you. What he overheard stopped him in his tracks, allowing him to fall to his knees in anger, frustration, but most importantly, denial. Part of him could process it, while the other part wished he could wake up from whatever nightmare he seemed to be having.

If there was one thing you could remember better than anything else, it was the silence that followed. Everyone dispersed from the area with crest fallen expressions making their way home to their families for the second time that night. You and Kaveh stayed behind, sitting quietly within the ruins on your knees, surrounded by rubble, praying for a miracle from the Dendro Archon.

Tears fell silently down both of your faces as he leaned against your shoulder, arms wrapped carelessly around your abdomen. You had no energy to return the action, and so you sat there in the still silence without so much as a sniffle. Your head was bowed to your chest, unable to look at the place anymore in fear of breaking down in a way that seemed worse than the way the palace had broken.

Both of your tears’ had dried with the morning sun. There was a pounding in your head as Kaveh dragged you back to his house to collect his savings and prepare to sell his house. You had done the same after making a hesitant agreement with him. A tingling sensation covered your body as your chest and stomach ached. Anxiety was written all over your face and you couldn’t help but feel regret over your actions. There was no other way out, you thought.

The arguments hadn’t stopped even after everything had been settled with the money and the plans to rebuild the palace came into fruition. You still had a hard time being around him and he felt the same way. Despite that small moment of desperation where he clung to you in the ruins, there wasn’t much left of your friendship by the end.

Ultimately, one thing led to another and a snap happened. Kaveh was the one to snap first, turning around on you one day and just hurling insult after insult. You followed suite, not backing down for the sake of your dignity. And at that moment, you just wanted to make each other hurt. There was nothing more to it. No real reason to be arguing anymore — not even over small trivial things like misplaced blueprints or an empty paint can being knocked over. It was pure hatred at its finest.

Coincidentally, that was the last day you ever saw each other. You both unknowingly felt bad about hurting each other like that. You were supposed to be best friends afterall. Some part of you even wanted to be more. Not that he ever knew that, though. There was a time in which you tried to apologize, but the residual anger that burned in your heart prevented you from ever seeking him out.

And so, everything you had come to know of him ceased at once. Kaveh was no longer part of your life and you were no longer part of his. The Palace of Alcazarzaray was finished by the crew and anytime either of you ever had to meet with Dori it was always separate. For years, you hadn’t even caught so much as a glance of him.

There was nothing left. Absolutely nothing.

Three weeks had passed since Zakai had reached out to either of you. History seemed to be repeating itself with you and Kaveh as well, seeing as neither of you had crossed paths at all within that time.

You were back to quietly running your tiny little store. There was only a week left until your eviction went into effect. The few things you had in your house had been moved into a small section in the back of your store where you had settled to live temporarily. There wasn’t much room and it wasn’t the safest, but you would find a way to make it work for the time being.

“Um, hi,” a timid voice squeaks out, catching you off guard, “I have an urgent delivery. Could you please confirm your name on the envelope?”

Your eyes lift from the paper they’re staring at blankly. Your brows furrow and you nod at the young boy who didn’t look to be older than fifteen. “Do you know what this is about?” You ask him as you turn to find a letter opener from behind you.

“Not exactly. It’s from my uncle Zakai, you know him right?”

“Yeah, something like that. Thanks,” you mumble. He hums before awkwardly walking out of your shop. When he’s gone, you eagerly cut open the pristine envelope to find a paper inside. It’s a letter, you realize as you begin to read it. It’s addressed to both you and Kaveh, so you assume he must’ve received one as well.

Inside the letter details a meeting at a specific time and place. It’s the build site, later this afternoon at three o’clock. Most of it is just jumbled up, redundant apologies that you can’t resist your eyes from rolling at, but the end of the letter catches your eye. Moving back up a few sentences you had scanned over, you reread it carefully.

“He wants to start the project back up?” You ask to no one but yourself. The letter falls from your hand onto the counter and you stare out at your shop in contemplation. On one hand, you could return to the project and see it through. Maybe hope nothing bad happens again. On the other, you could ditch the whole thing out of fear that history could repeat itself for a third time. It would mean you could avoid seeing Kaveh again. Because, as you angrily spat at him before, bad luck seemed to follow him wherever he went. You were far too scared of what the outcome of seeing him again would be.

Minutes later you had your answer as you found yourself flipping the sign outside the shop to closed and locking the doors.

It wasn’t worth it, you realized, being scared of someone who was only scared and sensitive himself. Joining the project again couldn’t hurt you any further than it already had. There was no contractual agreement that would force you to be friendly with Kaveh again either. Perhaps you could work merely as coworkers and nothing more. Speak to him only when you have to and get this job done once and for all.

“I’m glad to have you back,” Zakai shakes your hand firmly as you fall into step with him.

“Happy to be back,” you lie. Hesitantly, you turn to him and clear your throat, “If you don’t mind me asking, is your wife alright? What made you come back to the project?”

Mr. Zakai sends you a fond smile as he thinks of her, “She’s perfectly fine. Thank you for asking. There were a few complications with the baby, but she made it through and everything is going smoothly now. The baby is actually due in a few weeks. Can you believe it?”

“Not at all,” you smile halfheartedly.

“Anyway,” he says as you reach the site with him, “I came back to the project because I am a man of my word. I said I wasn’t going to drop it, so here I am. Besides, I’m impressed with yours and Kaveh’s work. I truly hope we can finish what we started.”

You nod silently to yourself. Before you or Zakai can say anything else, Kaveh jogs up to you both out of breath, “I’m so sorry I’m late. My annoying roommate took my key again and I couldn’t get back into the house to grab my things, so I had to go track him down and get it back.”

“That’s okay,” Zakai laughs and holds out his hand for Kaveh to shake, “It’s good to see you, Kaveh.”

“You too,” he says before turning to you. Kaveh nods at you silently. Hesitantly, you nod back, averting your eyes quickly.

It doesn’t take long for everything to return to the natural swing of things. The crew was happy to be back and building and Zakai was more than pleased with how close the house was to being completed. Over the next few weeks, everyone works diligently to get it completed.

Day in and day out, neither of you spoke to one another just as you had hoped for. No arguments, no silly jokes, no talking about ideas…nothing. Sometimes it felt a little lonely, even when you were standing right next to each other. There were times where you had seen something on the way to site that you wanted to talk to someone about, rant about your day, whatever. Even when you were still in the period of “hating” each other before Zakai temporarily left the project, both of you still felt more comfortable speaking to each other.

You want to hate him. You really do. But after everything that has happened, after all the emotions you can’t seem to restrain anymore, you’re beginning to wonder if you ever really hated him the way you said you did.

On the final day of the project, it rains again. You aren’t worried this time, however. Not like how you were with the palace. The house was built, inside and out. The only thing left to add was the remainders of Zakai and his wife’s furniture and any other little embellishments he had requested. A pay check was already in the mail for you both, your ticket out of the miserable life you’ve both led for two years.

You’re walking away for the night when footsteps pick up from somewhere behind you. Most of the crew was in front of you chatting away under a ledge shielded from the rain. There’s a hollow feeling in your chest that leaves you feeling dissatisfied with it all as you walk away, no umbrella and shivering furiously under the pouring rain. Eventually, the mysterious person catches up to you and falls into step with you. There was only one person it could have been.

A few weeks ago, you would have swatted him away or sped up so you could get as far away from him as possible. But now, just like that night in the ruins two years ago, you had no energy to push him away anymore. So, silently, you both walk side by side until you reach Sumeru City.

A bolt of lightning landing on the ground a few feet away causes you both to jump back. Thunder follows suite and suddenly the rain turns more into a storm that threatens to flood the city. Icy hail begins to fall not even seconds later, harshly landing against both of your backs as you rush into the city.

Kaveh’s hand gently grabs yours and eagerly drags you away with him. He’s yelling something, but you can’t make out what he’s saying. And before you know it, you’re both sitting in a booth at Lambad’s Tavern soaked and shivering.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers into the air, “We should stay here until the storm dies down. It’s too dangerous outside.”

“Yeah,” you quietly agree and nod quickly, eyes stuck on the table like it was the most interesting thing ever. Kaveh’s looking at you, but you ignore his gaze.

Minutes later, Lambad walks over with a sympathetic expression on his face as he sets down two hot chocolates. He makes some small talk about the storm which both of you indulge him in as you sip on the hot drinks, acting as if nothing was wrong between you. Eventually, he goes to leave but stops to turn back, “I’ll bring out two more on me. Please, stay as long as you need.”

“Thank you,” you both say simultaneously. It goes quiet when he leaves.

For the first time in two years, it feels like the silence is warm and home like. It’s no longer awkward and cold. It reminds you of the time when you were still scholars at the Akademiya, studying late at night at your house in your room. He would sit in your bed while you studied at your desk. There was always something so comforting about it despite the fact that you had to study. Being with him was your favorite thing in the world. And even though it felt like you both had been thrown into the pits of hell with each other, forced against each other over and over again, sitting across from him now felt like none of that had ever happened. For a tiny moment, it felt like you were friends again.

“I never wanted you out of my life,” Kaveh breaks the silence suddenly. Your eyes meet his for the first time that night and they’re brewing with a certain determination, sadness, and anger all at once. You can feel it in yourself too.

“What?” you breathe out. Your brows furrow as you take in what he’s saying, “You never wanted me to leave? But I thought…after everything, I mean. After what we said to each other back then, you didn’t hate me?”

Kaveh frowns and his mouth falls agape as his hands slam against the table dramatically. The words fall out of his mouth before he can stop them, “Hate you? Archons no! How could I hate you when I was in love with you?”

“Wait—you…? You were in love with me?”

His face falls instantly, hands waving in the air, “Shit, I didn’t mean—”

Your eyes glance back and forth between his, desperately searching for any sign of a prank or some sort of sick joke. Fear pangs your heart when you can’t find any, “Kaveh…why didn’t you say anything?”

“You were you and I was me. It never would’ve worked no matter how much I wanted it to,” Kaveh slumps into his seat, scoffing as he forces himself to look away from you, “You know what? Can we please just forget I ever said anything?”

The realization of what all the years you spent together meant hits you hard as you sit across from him. The rain pounding against the windows makes your head pound even harder as you try to make sense of it all. Because, no, this was not some sick joke or some prank. Kaveh was wholeheartedly in love with you at some point and you had no idea.

There were times where you felt the same. Staring at him from across the room, his beautiful blonde hair messily sprawled across your bed as he complained about the project you were working on. The times when he would be going on and on about his passions and you couldn’t help but zone out and just admire him in all his glory. Or when he would bring you food just because he knew you had forgotten to eat again. All the trinkets he would buy you because they reminded him of you. The way he made you feel so loved and cared for. Over the years, you had unknowingly fallen for him too. Kaveh may have only ever been your best friend, but in moments like those, moments where the light hit him just right, you wished he could have been more.

“No.”

“No?”

You lean across the table slightly, forcing him to look at you, “I can’t just ignore that. I can’t pretend you didn’t say it or that you never had feelings for me. I hate to admit it, but Kaveh, I had feelings for you too back then.”

It’s silent for a few moments. You give him the chance to speak, but he doesn’t take it. You take in a deep inhale and hesitantly speak, “I know it’s been a long time — years to be precise. And it pains me to say this, but I’m really happy the project worked out how it did. That opportunity from Zakai gave me more than I could ask for and…I’m glad it brought me back to you.”

“Yeah,” Kaveh scoffs playfully, a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth, “Only after a painstaking amount of convincing.”

“Oh please, I had every reason to say no to you,” you refute, crossing your arms in defense, “And I wasn’t finished. What I was trying to say, was that, even though it’s been so many years, I don’t know where to go from here. But I…I don’t want us to go back to the way things were.”

Kaveh sighs, “I know. I don’t either. Obviously we both have things we need to work through. But, if you’re willing, I’d like to start over again. Not completely, of course. But I want us to be friends again, maybe one day even more…If you’ll have me, that is.”

“Okay,” you breathe out with a small smile. Although it took years and a painful amount of fighting, tears, and money, you had found each other again. Perhaps you couldn’t love each other now, but the feeling was without a doubt there. The pounding in your hearts and ache for one another was concrete proof of it.

And as Kaveh reaches out and takes your hand again for the first time in two years, he knows he’ll never let you go again.

#genshin #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact fanfiction #kaveh #kaveh angst #kaveh fluff #kaveh x reader #kaveh x you #kaveh x y/n #i’m so glad this is finished

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frenchy-and-the-sea · 10 days ago

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Didn't expect to do this, but. Excerpt from a longer piece I'm working on from my Curse of Strahd campaign, because I was reading over it while trying to find something to work on in the midst of all of this awful shit and got slapped with some very on the nose feelings. Call it my WIP Wednesday, lol.

“But honestly, who is going to blame me for indulging in a little bit of absurdity right now? This whole situation is mad.” “Is it?” Now Ireena turns to face her, brows furrowed in genuine confusion. “How so?” This, from Ireena, is a real question, and not a sarcastic quip at Wyn's expense, so she takes a breath to quell the sudden scorch of fire in her chest and turns her attention back to her sketch. “Where would you have me start?” she asks, very lightly. “The night that we spent safe among a full caravan of people on a well-traveled trade road, only to wake up in the middle of unfamiliar woods, alone, with necromantic mists chasing our every step? The haunted manor house so full to the brim with moral transgressions that it tried to eat us one floor at a time, and very nearly succeeded? Or perhaps the fact that less than two hours ago, we were sat down at the table of a woman who claims to see the future and told that, despite our inexperience and our incompetence and the fact that we have not so much as a whit of real skill between us, we are apparently meant to be this land’s saviors?” In truth, savior hadn’t been the word that Madam Eva had used. She had been more delicate, less certain; she had used words like ‘might,’ like ‘maybe.’ But she had still held out beseeching hands across her card-strewn table and told them that they carried hope on their shoulders, that she looked to them for the cure to the curse on Barovia’s stricken land. She had still said that they were what she had been waiting for. The whole thing had been so absurd that Wyn still feels a little glow of pride when she remembers that she hadn’t laughed. Beside her, Ireena nods, slowly. “I see,” she says, and she probably does, but Wyn can tell by her expression that she also thinks that Wyn is overreacting. The thought is nearly enough to spin up the grease fire burning in her gut again, almost enough to bait the howling animal — but then Wyn takes another breath, and sighs, and shrugs. “I expect that you’re the only one who does,” she says, smiling like there isn't a part of her that wants to start screaming instead. “But, as near as I can tell, I have two options: I can either wallow in the knowledge that this is our death sentence, and spend a very productive evening being a font of wretched despair and grim portent, or —” She makes a flourishing gesture down to the sketch in her lap. “— I can paint a beard onto the wizard. Considering that I expect to spend no small amount of time on the former, I’ve decided to indulge the latter while I have the energy.”

#my writing #frenchy writes #oc crap #the wyn tag #i need a curse of strahd tag #wyn 'things have gotten so bad that i'm turning to stupid art and bad jokes' bannon everyone #my favorite repository for all of my worst feelings #started reading through this to get a feel of the energy to start it up again and got absolutely blindsided by the solidarity of the despai #minor spoilers for some CoS stuff but nothing really to look out for #for those following along at home this IS about the time when ireena told our wizard that he would be a REAL wizard once he grew a beard #which wyn laughed so hard about that she decided to immortalize it #the persistence in the face of the worst while also feeling really fuckin mad and sad and despairing about it REALLY LEAPT OUT AT ME Y'ALL

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joysmercer · 6 months ago

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post-season 3

Terri will freely admit that she wasn’t overly enthusiastic about her daughter suddenly deciding (with less than a month’s notice) to spend two weeks of summer at a camp run by her boyfriend and otherwise minimal adult supervision. Yes, a lot of it was because she (selfishly) wanted her daughter to spend that time with her after not being together for half a year, but she was also concerned on a more general level: across the country with no cell phones? The summer before her junior year? Terri would much rather she stay home, focus on SAT prep if anything, and prepare for her future—not go to some theatre workshop where she’s unlikely to learn anything of value.

It did help to find out that Gina has been cast as the lead in the first-ever stage production of a wildly popular Disney movie and will also be starring in the associated documentary. This is a novel experience, can go on her college apps and résumé, and really, who is she to judge when all expenses are paid in exchange for signing a few release forms?

Still, she misses the days she could hear about each rehearsal straight from the source instead of random teasers dropped on the Disney+ twitter account, and she especially hates that she has to work and miss Gina’s big debut. By the time intermission is called on the livestream, Terri (ever-so-grateful for the weekend off) is already en-route to California.

Terri pulls into the Shallow Lake parking lot and spots Gina immediately among the throng of campers checking out and saying their goodbyes. She’s grown at least an inch, Terri realizes with a jolt. Gina is nearly seventeen now, on the brink of adulthood, and the way she’s carrying herself now demonstrates a demeanor entirely different from the teenager she’d dropped off at MSY just a few months ago. Why does time always move so fast with these kids?

Gina whips around as soon as Terri slams the car door shut, as if she was able to hear it from all the way across the yard, letting out a loud squeal of delight that sends Terri’s heart melting before launching herself straight into her mother’s arms. Terri is instantly reminded of a five-year-old Gina doing the exact same thing at kindergarten pickup.

“Hey, sweet pea,” she whispers, returning her daughter’s tight hug. Some things never change.

“Mom? What are you even doing here? I thought you were closing on the house? Oh my god, I had no idea—"

“I finished all that yesterday, and since I have a free weekend, I thought we could take a mother-daughter road-trip back home – just like old times.” While their last few moves had been too far apart to drive, she and Gina used to spent nearly every school holiday or long weekend transporting their lives across state lines while eating their fill of fast food and pancakes, touring random obscure roadside attractions, and making some of their fondest memories.

Gina beams. “I’d love that,” she says, bouncing on her heels excitedly. “I finished packing, actually, so I just need to take care of one thing real quick and we can head out.”

Then she smiles big and wide again, an expression she saves for truly special occasions (like, apparently, 10 hours with her mother in a car), and quickly kisses Terri’s cheek. “Love you, mommy. Be back in a bit.”

Gina sprints off in the direction of, according to a nearby sign, a “Yurt Locker”. Strange name, Terri thinks. She doesn’t have a chance muse on it (or what the hell it even means) further, though, because someone bellows GENEVIEVE MARIE! so loudly that both Gina and Terri, now at least 20 feet apart, jump at the sound.

The source of the voice appears a second later—or at least Terri assumes that’s who the curly-haired boy with a shit-eating grin on his face now standing in front of Gina is, given her daughter’s currently crossed arms, flushed cheeks, and, surprisingly, equally playful smile. Terri eyes the boy curiously. Gina doesn’t give out her full name to just anyone and rarely allows anyone to use it (Terri can’t remember the last time she herself even said the word Genevieve, let alone added her middle name to the mix). But Gina seems entirely unfazed now, as if having this boy yell it for all to hear is a regular occurrence. Who is he?

Then she notices the acoustic guitar he’s clutching, and it hits her. Kristoff: Ricky Bowen.

It had been a while since Gina had mentioned Ricky in their weekly FaceTimes. His name had only ever come up in relation to Ashlen’s role of Belle in the spring musical, and even then, it was mostly to complain about his two left feet. If it weren’t for a panicked text conversation on Valentine’s Day (Gina’s teddy bear got lost in transit, long story), Terri would have entirely forgotten about him.

Clearly, not only has his dancing greatly improved this summer (if yesterday was any evidence), but so has his friendship with her daughter.

Ricky pulls out a set of keys and gestures to the parking lot, fanning his face with his free hand, and that’s when Terri realizes he’s wearing…a pink-and-blue snowsuit. Gina laughs and rolls her eyes at him, clearly teasing him about his ridiculous attire for an LA summer, but when he says something else, Gina suddenly shakes her head, pointing straight at Terri.

Terri gives a small wave to the kids, and Ricky immediately waves back excitedly. Okay, then.

Turning back to Gina, Ricky says something else and Gina smiles shyly and nods. Terri watches as the pair hugs goodbye, a motion that is simultaneously so natural neither think twice about it—falling into a tight embrace that nearly lifts Gina off the ground—but so awkward when they separate that Terri can feel the tension from all the way over here. Okay, then, indeed.

Ricky meanders toward the bright orange bug almost double-parked in the last slot of the lot. Terri recognizes the car from her driveway last fall – but also remembers Gina mentioning that Ashlen’s boyfriend also drives an orange bug that the three of them and EJ would carpool to school in, leaving Terri to wonder which possibility is weirder: that Ricky and his friend got matching ugly vehicles together, or that Ricky transported his friend’s car across state lines for two weeks and his friend actually agreed to it.

There isn’t much she knows about Ricky Bowen, actually, except that he has an apparent penchant for nabbing lead roles out from under everyone else’s noses and—surprisingly—actually justifying those casting choices. Gina’s scene partners are often so dry she has to work double-time to make the chemistry believable. Last night, however, Ricky showed a level of talent that nearly matched her own daughter’s in the way he was able to hold the audience captive even without Gina on stage with him. There was one solo of his in particular that had actually caught Terri’s attention (she had taken the opportunity to answer some emails) when, right at the end, he suddenly directed the final line of the song away from the audience and into the wings: you’re what I know about love, he sang, straight to Ana. Straight to Gina. It was not only a genius move but one she doubted he was directed to do—he must have come up with it himself.

Still, something about him sets Terri on edge. Questionable decisions (seriously, snowsuit?) aside, he has the demeanor of a class clown, someone who stays while it’s fun but bolts when things get hard. It makes Terri uneasy, especially since it’s clear that this is someone Gina cares deeply about.

“Sorry about that.” Gina’s back, suitcases in hand, shaking Terri out of her reverie. “I had to tell Ricky I didn’t need a ride first.”

“Oh, I thought EJ was giving you a ride home,” Terri says, taking one of the suitcases from Gina.

A tense silence. “Mom, I told you we broke up, remember?”

“I know, sweetheart,” Terri quickly assures her. Gina had called early yesterday morning from Kourtney’s phone, relating the news with a quick “it was a long time coming, we’re still friends, prom was super fun otherwise, see you soon” and hanging up before Terri could even get an I’m sorry out. “I just assumed you’d keep the same arrangement since Ashlen and your other friends are there, too.” She winces. “I see how silly that sounds out loud, though.”

“Yeah.” More silence.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Terri asks gently.

Gina shakes her head no emphatically. “I told you, it wasn’t really a surprise. I’m fine.”

“Okay, okay, got the hint.” Terri laughs, sighing internally with relief when Gina gives her a (albeit watery) smile. She opens the car trunk and shoves the suitcase inside.

“So, why was Ricky wearing a snowsuit?” Terri asks as they settle in and buckle up, unable to keep the question to herself any longer.

“Oh, he wasn’t supposed to be at camp at all, and showed up without a ton of clothes, so he mostly borrowed from others I think, and got pizza all over his laundry yesterday, too.” she giggles slightly, then continues, “plus the guys dumped ice water on themselves last night and he put is wet towel on top of his open suitcase, like an idiot.” She says all this with the nonchalance of someone explaining 1+1=2, not…whatever she just said about sudden enrollment, pizza, and ice water.

“That doesn’t explain the snowsuit,” Terri says, now even more confused.

“Rumor has it he was supposed to go skiing with his ex? he didn’t say, though." Gina shrugs.

“that girl Jamie’s working with?”

“No.” Gina doesn’t elaborate.

“Well, regardless, he’s very talented,” Terri supplies. “I did enjoy that one ballad of his yesterday, the one with the guitar and lights.”

“Oh.” Gina smiles softly, almost to herself. “I liked that one too.”

Terri’s stomach twists, like they’re about to go barreling off a cliff they can’t see and can’t stop.

“Is he doing the fall musical as well?”

“I dunno. Probably. It’s his senior year, he won’t have many more chances.”

“I didn’t realize he’s a year ahead of you,” Terri says, surprised. “How are his college apps coming along?”

“Mom,” Gina groans. “It’s literally summer vacation, and believe it or not, I didn’t ask. He probably hasn’t even started thinking about them yet.”

“Fair,” Terri says, although, internally, she disagrees. if Ricky were truly serious about his future, he would have had his summer plans set in place long ago, and a solid school list by now.

I can tell you like him, Gigi, she thinks. And then, suddenly, I wish you didn’t.

It’s a strange thought, and a foreign one—Gina has yet to make a friend that Terri straight-up disapproves of. What Ricky does with his life is really none of her business, and Gina’s a smart girl—she won’t go rushing into poor decisions even if her friends are walking bundles of chaos. Plus, from the little she’s seen, it’s clear he cares about Gina, too. Maybe as much as she does him.

But Gina in a relationship is…different. Gina in a relationship was more carefree, a little less focused. She begged to go to prom despite having an exam the next Monday, she shifted her summer plans around for a camp she showed no interest in before, and she prioritized FaceTimes and texting every night over reading or sleeping. there were no lasting negative repercussions for any of this, but if there was ever a time for Gina to conserve her extra energy for something worthwhile, it’s now.

Ricky a good friend, Terri decides. As friends, he keeps her grounded—but anything more than that? She’s just not sure.

#high school musical: the musical: the series #hsmtmts fic #ricky x gina #this was SUPPOSED to be a part of a larger fic #however i cannot figure out how to end it and ive been trying for three months to figure it out so in the meantime have the only scene #ive actually finished <3 #my writing #myposts

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bl4nk-pag3 · 2 years ago

Text

— Disconnected ✨️

synopsis: it's a strange day, but zhanghao's presence can make it even weirder.

pairing: zhanghao × gn!reader

warnings: reader usually wears makeup, but not in this day. they are friends with hanbin, hanbin is friends with zhanghao and zhanghao its friends with keita.

word count: 1.3k

a/u: I was listening to dance dance by fall out boy when writing this... it's a little while since I writed so much, but I'm kinda happy on how it turned out, I just love hao so much and had to write something for his 1st place! also, english it's not my first language, im really bad at grammar. also this is purely inspired by that one haobin moment, and the fact that I indeed have a similar mole to zhanghao.

Despite all the diligence of waking up early every day, getting a decent outfit to wear, putting on some makeup and fixing your hair just to go to college, there are days when it's impossible to deal with the idea of even opening your eyes with the sound of your alarm. Of course, that had already become a comforting routine in some way, it was almost like a reason to make you want to leave the house for the run, however on a day as cold as these, it was almost as if there was something calmly telling you to continue sleeping some more, until finally, even if you wanted to continue with the beauty routine, it would be impossible.

Staring at your reflection in the mirror, it wasn't really bad so to speak. You didn't hate yourself without makeup despite your lack of habit with how you looked without it to go to college. The baggy sweatshirt covering your body and a good part of your hair, the sweatpants and the clean face made you feel that it was nothing more than an outing to go to the market, and not that it bothered you, but it was in fact different, and that idea made you chuckle softly at your reflection, almost feeling foolish for such thought.

Anyways, the day flowed normally despite the abnormality in the routine, nobody really seemed to notice the lack of production to go to college because maybe nobody cared, in reality, and it started to grow inside your chest, a feeling of conformity, of simply accepting how perhaps this change would be more comfortable for you, even if it was indeed a weird one.

That is until you enter the fine arts class.

It hadn't been at the spot, or you hadn't noticed a change in the room at least until the middle of the class, completely focused on your notes and paying attention to all the information that the teacher practically threw in your direction, but when a quiet moment passed through the room, you casually lifted your eyes from the computer screen to rest them, looking up at the ceiling until they randomly landed on a pair of eyes that were already completely focused on you, which made your heart stop for a moment before processing that information.

It could have been anyone in that situation looking at you in a cold and enigmatic way, but it wasn't just anyone, it was Zhanghao. Zhanghao. He was staring at you and the only thing going through your mind was what the fuck could you have done to get the attention of the Chinese prodigy boy of the class himself.

He was as usual, handsome, impeccably groomed, just a few desks ahead of your own and apparently in a one-sided conversation with Keita, where only the Japanese man seemed interested in talking about everything and then some, barely caring about the lack of attention he was getting. received from Zhanghao, attention that for some reason was on you, of all people.

This kind of behavior was strange, you felt panic invade your being, scratching your own face and dividing your gaze between the boy, your desk, the computer still open in your notes on the document and back to Zhanghao, trying to understand why in no time he seemed intent on averting your gaze, like you were a puzzle too hard to understand or like you'd randomly grown a second head on your neck.

— He wants to talk to you — Hanbin's voice sounded calm next to him, almost mischievous if you were to be honest with what you had heard, but there was no reason for the Korean to make a joke about the situation, even though he was a colleague who always was sitting next to you, he was much closer to Zhanghao than you could ever dream of being. Turning your body to the tall man, he casually adjusted his thin-rimmed glasses on his face before laughing, as if the whole situation was one big comic relief for his life. — He's weird like that, Hao-hyung... He doesn't know how to ask for things.

And with that, before even giving you a second to understand the situation, he simply raised his hand, whistling low to get the attention of both the little Terazono and Zhanghao who were nearby, but not enough to have overheard what he had said, secreted to you. Calling the two with his hand, the mischievous smile only seemed to grow on Sung's face as he saw those dominoes cascading in line.

— Are you crazy? Why are you calling him here? — The panic was almost palpable on your tone, even in your wide eyes as your gaze shifted from the duo in front of you two getting up to approach, and back to Hanbin who looked satisfied with what he had done. You didn't know why Zhanghao wanted to interact, he had never done that, he was a closed, quiet boy and had a small circle of friends only including the best students in his course, the interest in you didn't seem genuine at all, so you could have just fucked with something.

However, your complaints didn't seem to affect the Korean beside you at all, who just nodded at the two new guests who were sitting in the front rows, completely facing the two of you, or rather, facing Hanbin, even if you still sometimes could feel Zhanghao's curious look on yout face, as if he was really looking for something.

— Why did you call? I was explaining about the upcoming competition to Hao. Can you believe he wanted to play the violin? I said no, we should dance, because that wins competitions... It's like Y/ni instead of dancing just painted something! Nothing against your paintings, but it doesn't attract the audience, and... — Keita really doesn't he seemed like the type who needed someone to listen to him most of the time, once he felt comfortable, it was as if the words just flowed from his lips, and Hanbin being such a good listener with such pertinent comments , it was the perfect distraction for the Japanese, only now did you notice what he was doing.

Turning your gaze to Zhanghao, it was there again, that gaze that suffocated you more and more for not understanding what he meant behind it. The chinese boy had always been introverted like that, you had noticed being Hanbin's casual colleague, however seeing it up close was really something.

— Zhanghao...? Is there something on my face? — For a moment you saw a different glint in the taller one’s eyes, as if he had finally woken up and seen how strange he had been acting all that time, making him suddenly shy with the confrontation, scratching the back of his head in order to console himself for a moment, giving you the prime view of the tips of his ears turning a bright red that suited him.

— There's nothing on your face... It's just that I've never noticed that you have a mole here. — In an almost subconscious way, Zhanghao just reached out the index finger of his elegant hand to subtly touch the high of your cheek, almost automatically regretting it, even without saying so, pointing in the same moment to his own beauty mark, on the same place, just mirrored. — It's just like mine.

It was strange, it was usually at these times that a heavy and uncomfortable mood would appear, but all you could do was laugh in relief at how Zhanghao could be just adorable with such silly and random information. And even if for a moment, your laughter almost seemed to charm the tall boy in front of you, making him blink slowly in your direction.

— Maybe we have a lot in common, Hao.

The sentence came out naturally from your lips, as if all that had been programmed, as if fate had made all its turns so that you could be there in that half-empty classroom, with Keita and Hanbin's judgmental gazes on the two of you, and you and Zhanghao just smiling like two idiots at each other. A promising, hopeful start for you who couldn't even imagine one day talking to the so frightening and icy Zhanghao.

#zb1 #zerobaseone #zb1 imagines #zerobaseone imagines #zb1 fluff #zhanghao imagines #zhanghao fluff

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zoshkawrites · 6 months ago

Text

yuzuha comforting you after a breakup

tw: angst, english is not my native language, not edited

small note: dedicated to my best friend. sometimes i love you more than myself.

"i bought this red lipstick for a man i had a crush on, but in the end, I liked the lipstick more than him" yuzuha handed you the lipstick so you could see it better.

you were in your house, showing each other your makeup. ot was the blonde's idea and olan of her goal to distract you from what had just happened. until a minute before, she had been talking about her expensive mascara, subconsciously trying to tell you, "your mascara is more important than the man who broke your heart." you had to be honest with yourself for once; you were eternally grateful that your best friend was comforting you at this late hour. how ironic life was; she introduced you to him, she comforted you about your breakup. maybe this was the true friendship that seemed to exist in the pages of books, in the cool songs of teenage singers.

"yes, it's beautiful," you already felt your tears drying up.

"do you want to try it on?" she asked, and before you could answer, Yuzuha was already rummaging through your closet to hand you the mirror. this girl not only knew you and what could comfort your heart, but also your belongings and where they were.

you grabbed the mirror and put some of the red lipstick on your lips, not caring if you were overlining.

"hey!" she immediately grabbed the mirror out of your hand, "try to apply it better!"

'is it so hard for her to realize that she should feel beautiful?' the blonde thought and started to apply the lipstick on your lips.

"so..." she began to explain, grabbing your chin with one hand and applying the product with the other. "don't tell me you forgot how to put on makeup because that jerk wouldn't let you use makeup."

"i just don't think I'm in the mood to wear makeup right now," you admitted, not expecting any comment in return. it was as if you surrendered to autoplay, responding to a void like a robot.

yuzuha put the lipstick down; now your lips were as rosy as an apple and the redness of your eyes had begun to disappear. without needing any reason you felt better.

"just tell me, is it worth crying over things you can't change?" the blonde said, a motherly instinct in her voice, as if she were comforting not a friend, but her child.

"m-maybe I'm crying..." you tried to cover your stutter and reached for the mirror, "because I can't change things."

you looked in the mirror and liked the way her lipstick looked on your lips. like a gentle kiss a mother would give after telling a long fairy tale.

"if you couldn't change it, then it wasn't that much important!" she scolded you, wondering what else to show, so she can distract you.

yuzuha sighed and rested her head on her hands, her eyes glued to the floor.

"it is enough that you tried to change things, and that you believed it would happen. now stop playing with fate. Don't fight with it. let your heart and mind rest. they need it, don't they?"

the blonde had acted like that before; as if she cared about your battles and your fears as much as you did. but since when could she say such words that could embrace your heart?

apparently, friendship is more serious than love. a man may get your attention because of his money, because of his passion, but friendship exists because you both depend on each other.

"that's enough..." she muttered and looked at you. you didn't show it, but you were still sobbing, and the tears seemed to eat away your eyes.

you remembered one of your old pictures when you were a little girl; holding a beautiful bouquet for march 8th and a bright smile was on your face. when you thought of that picture, you wanted to cry and scream even more. did the girl in the picture deserve it? was it your fault that that girl no longer smiled?

just as you were about to burst into another bitter cry that was making your head ache, you felt warm hands on your back. the one side of your cheek was touched by yuzuha's curls; before you realized it, you were already in her embrace.

and it felt beautiful.

it was like you were a little bird learning to fly. and after a long lesson on a summer day, you were back in your cozy nest with your mother and father.

perhaps there was no point in holding back the tears. if your soul wanted to cry, there was no point in stopping your body.

"give your inner self the relief it needs more than this man," you remembered your best friend's words and began to cry peacefully in her arms.

the pain was still there, you could still feel the agony, but it was different when you shared it. it made you feel light for no reason at all.

"you know," the blonde began, her hands on your back, sending pleasant shivers down your entire spine, "if you need a shoulder, I am here. and remember, when a loved one touches your shoulder, you don't feel it as burden, you feel it as warmth."

maybe our soulmates weren't our romantic partners. maybe our soulmates were our best friends.

#tokyo revengers x reader #tokrev x reader #yuzuha shiba #shiba yuzuha #yuzuha x reader #yuzuha shiba x reader #yuzuha is your best friend #tokrev x y/n #yuzuha shiba x y/n #tokyo revengers fic #tokyo revengers oneshot

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rafeandonlyrafe · 1 year ago

Text

legacy

words: 4k

warnings: violence? ig, finding treasure, evil ward

“i know you have it. so you better run y/n.” ward says, pushing his hat further down on his face. “because i’m going to chase you down and get my map.”

you stand there in fear, no point further denying. you know ward can’t do anything more now, as more and more people come out onto the street. he’s lucky that no one has recognized him already, he is supposed to be dead after all.

he walks down an alleyway, and you only stand still to process for a moment, before rushing to your car. you know ward has money. money to track you down and destroy your life, even from beyond the grave. he thinks you have a treasure map leading to some random treasure you’ve never even heard of but apparently is buried somewhere along the outer banks. you haven’t the furthest clue what he’s talking about.

you drive home, knowing you don’t have much time before ward is going to send his people to your house. you grab a backpack, stuffing a change of clothes, all the cash you have on hand and some waters in it, as well as some packable food.

you grab your cell phone, with the idea to plant it on a bus and watch it drive away, unsure if ward will somehow be able to track it, but knowing it’s not worth the risk.

you pause by the door, before running back to your bedroom and grabbing your favorite book, one passed down from your grandfather. you add it to the backpack as well, wondering if you’re going to regret the added weight later.

the sound of a car approaching makes you hustle away from the house, walking along the backyards instead of the sidewalk. the car ends up driving past your house, but you know you’re low on time. you rush to the bus station, dropping your phone into someone’s bag on the ground, not staying to see them taking it onto the bus.

you’re not sure what the plan is, other than having to evade ward for as long as possible. you know there’s no point going to the police, they’d never believe you that ward is alive and after you, especially not with your previous run-ins with the law.

you grew up a kook, which is why you were able to afford your own house on the island, but you never were truly in with them, and your calls about class consciousness and wanting more wealth equality was not taken well by your neighbors, but it only radicalized you more, joining in on protest for a number of social issues, resulting in you getting jailed a couple times overnight for disturbing the peace.

you blame your grandpa for the radicalization, he amassed a large fortune that could have secured your family for generations to come, but he chose to distribute most of his wealth to various charities, while still leaving a sizable chunk to you.

you thought it would put you on bad terms with ward’s son, rafe, considering how he was especially cruel to the pogues, but there was always a spark of kindness he showed towards you, like you had wiggled a little way into his heart to make him not as evil. it gives you hope, knowing he’s just a product of his environment, like you are yours.

you head towards a more isolated part of the island, hoping to hunker down for a few weeks until it all blows over, ward unable to keep hidden or to move on to the next crazy obsession.

you enter into an old barn, climbing up to the second story carefully, not sure how structurally sound the old wood is as it creaks loudly under your every step.

you get to the top, cringing at the decomposing hay, but sit yourself down near the mostly boarded up window, watching through the slats as the rising sun moves higher into the air. you pull out your book, making sure to take a hearty drink of water. you know that one major advantage of hiding from ward is being able to go out in public, whenever it’s too busy, he can’t show his face without getting recognized.

you start to read the familiar book, one you first remember being read to you by your grandfather. it’s titleless, and grandpa would always just call it the adventure book. the cover is brown leather, and you dive into the familiar words to pass the time.

you don’t even realize how long you’ve read until your stomach grumbles, realizing you’re already halfway through the book and the sun is high in the sky, glittering through the small holes in the tattered roof.

you pull out a granola bar from your bag, eating it quickly and putting the wrapper back in your bag, not wanting to leave a trail when you eventually leave the barn. you go to pick up your book to begin reading again, but pause as you hear something approaching the barn. it sounds small, but it could be someone creeping carefully closer.

you creep to the edge, peering over the fence, listening carefully to the noises. you let out a breath of relief when a racoon scurries into the barn, only to run out a minute later. it reminds you that this is a wilder side of the island, and that you need to be careful of bears and alligators.

you head back towards your spot, finishing your book as the sun sets in the sky. you situate yourself to sleep, glad for once you’re a light enough sleeper to wake up if someone began to approach. despite spending most of your day sitting and reading, you’re still exhausted and fall asleep quickly.

surprisingly, nothing wakes you up until the sun shines through in the morning. you give a big stretch, downing a water bottle instantly to relieve your dry mouth. you decide you can’t stay in the stuffy barn any longer, packing everything into your bag and heading down the ladder. you make sure to quietly walk, and keep your ears open as you head towards town, needing a real meal.

“hey y/n.” you hear as you enter the small diner.

“hi ma’am.” you smile, taking a breath of relief when the hostess is one of your closest friends mom. maybe you can whisper what’s happening to her, but you don’t want to put anyone else at risk. you decide against it as you order a meal, ignoring the people staring as you scarf down an entire burger at 10 in the morning.

you order another burger to go, packing it up and putting it in your backpack, not wanting to stay in one place for too long. you pay and give your friends mom a big hug, much to her surprise, but you honestly just need some good human contact.

you head out the door, looking in both directions, wondering if heading back to the barn is the safest idea, when you see him. your eyes both widen as they make contact.

“wait!” rafe yells, but it’s too late, you’re already running down the street, hearing his footfalls behind you as you head through an alleyway to evade him.

you tuck behind a wooden fence blocking off an entrance to an apartment, hoping to hear him run past, but his footsteps slow down when he doesn’t see you still running.

“fuck.” rafe curses, unaware that you’re so close you can hear him.

“rafe?” the voice has your blood running cold. despite running, you’re really not scared of rafe, but you’re fucking terrified as ward. ward would stop at anything, while you don’t think rafe would hurt you personally.

“did you see her, son?” ward asks.

“no.” rafe’s answer confuses you, he absolutely saw you. “i thought it was her, but i think it was just someone who looks like her.”

you don’t have any time to process rafe protecting you as the door to the apartment opens. you turn with wide eyes, shaking your head no and holding a finger up to your mouth, hoping the elderly man won’t say anything and alert ward to your presence, but as you see his mouth open, you know it’s too late.

“this is private property!” you cringe at how loud his voice is, hoping you can get the jump on ward and rafe by jumping up and quickly running, but they’re on your back in no time. you’re glad you ran track in school, pulling ahead but not by much.

you spot the elementary school up ahead of you, closed for summer, but you know from your rebellious teen years exactly where the tricky window that doesn’t lock is. you make a sudden turn towards the school, ward and rafe overshooting the turn onto the grounds from the unexpected move.

you round to the back of the building, opening the window quickly, letting out a silent apology to mrs. lindstein, who is still in this same classroom after all these years as you step on her bookshelves to get in. you shut the window the best you can behind you, hoping ward and rafe didn’t see.

you rush out into the hallway, just in time to hear the door slam in an adjoining hallway. they must have found a door left open, most likely there’s a teacher working on her classroom set up as autumn is quickly approaching. you run as quickly as you can into a classroom, glad to see the desks are piled up from the floor being cleaned, making you have to crawl under one to get through.

rafe enters before you can hide, and you know he’s seen you, but he doesn’t shout for ward to your surprise.

“rafe, please.” you whisper as he climbs over the desk.

“i’m not gonna hurt you, y/n.” rafe says, reaching out to you as he approaches, moving like you’re a wild animal ready to strike.

“your dad will.” you whisper, backing up towards the wall.

“i know. that’s why i’m with him. i knew he’d find you first, so i pretended to help him, let him think i was on your team, but i don’t want anything to happen to you.”

“let me go then.” you plead.

“he’s having us check every classroom. his guys are already on their way to cover the exits, they might even be here right now. i can convince him you slipped away, that i didn’t see you in here, that you must have got out before we covered the exits, but i need you to hide, now.”

you glance around the classroom, having no better option than to trust rafe.

“i don’t know if he’s going to have his guys search the school. probably not, but you’ve got to keep yourself hidden until i can come back for you tonight.”

“okay.” you whisper, letting rafe lead you over to a cabinet.

“i’m so sorry but you have to get in, baby.” rafe opens up the cabinet door, taking a glance at the classroom door, knowing he’s running out of time before his dad is going to get suspicious as to why he’s taking so long to clear one classroom.

you take your backpack off and climb in, thankful for the air vents at the top providing you not just fresh air, but also cooling it down a little as you situate yourself in a seating position, deciding you’ll wait until nightfall and if rafe doesn’t come back, then so be it.

“wait, rafe-” you call as he goes to shut the door.

“what’s wrong?” he asks, kneeling down to get on your level.

“why are you helping me?”

rafe bites his lip, unsure how to word it, but then decides words won't suffice, leaning in and kissing you gently. “i won’t let him hurt you. i promise.”

you’re not sure what to say in response, so you just nod, letting rafe carefully shut the door. you rest your head against the wood, closing your eyes and breathing gently, not wanting to make any movement until you were sure that everyone was gone.

“was she in there?” ward asks, and your ears strain to hear the conversation happening in the hallway.

“no. i think she must have slipped out already.” rafe replies, your heart now skipping a beat at his voice, remembering the soft feel of his lips against yours.

you can’t hear the rest of the conversation as they walk away. you wait a couple hours, completely bored. once your stomach starts to rumble, and you remember the burger you’ve saved in your bag. you unwrap it as carefully as you can to avoid noise, holding back the moan as you take a bite, still tasting just as good fresh now, but your hunger may be clouding your mind.

you finish it and your second to last water bottle before leaning your head back against the wood, closing your eyes. you don’t even realize that you’ve drifted off until you’re woken up by the sound of soft footsteps approaching. light doesn’t shine through the vents anymore, signaling you must have slept for several hours and night has fallen.

you pray that it’s rafe, you have nowhere to run if it’s someone else.

“y/n?” you let out a breath of relief hearing rafe’s voice. you throw open the door, running into rafe’s open arms.

“it’s okay, i got you.” rafe says, letting you hide your face in his shoulder as his hands slowly rub up and down over your back.

“where’s ward?” you ask, voice muffled by his shirt, but you don’t want to pull away, not yet.

“i convinced him you had some family in charlotte and were probably hiding out there. he left me behind to watch over tanneyhill.”

“thank you rafe.” you say, leaning back to look him in the eye.

“i’m… i’m sorry it took me so long to see what was happening with my dad. it took him wanting to hurt you to realize what was happening.”

“it’s okay.” you say, pulling him into another hug, relaxing into his touch.

“here, i brought you food and water.” rafe says, pulling you to the floor so you don’t have to stand and eat.

“thank god, i’m starving.” you say, sitting criss cross and grabbing the sandwich he brought you, eating it quickly.

rafe watches you eat with a small smile on his face, leaning forward and kissing your forehead as you finish up. the little picnic would be romantic if it were under different circumstances.

“thanks.” you blush, thinking about your kiss.

“is it… can i… nevermind.” rafe shakes his head.

“no, what is it?” you press.

“can i kiss you again?” “yeah.” you nod. “yes, of course.” you move closer to rafe, letting him kiss you again, your lips softly gliding over each other, able to take more time now. you pull away, but don’t go far as rafe’s arms wrap around you, and you lean into the side, both of you just needing the feel of each other.

“what is it that your dad thinks i have?” you ask, tracing a shape on rafe’s thigh.

“oh the map? you do have it.” rafe says casually, making you sit up and look at him.

“what do you mean?”

“you don’t know?” he asks, seemingly genuinely surprised.

“no, i have no clue what you’re talking about.” you admit.

“that book your grandpa gave you, you have it with you right?” rafe asks, and you nod, pulling the book out of your backpack, not even hesitating before handing it to him.

rafe opens up the book, placing a finger down on the very first page. you give him a confused glance before realizing he was pointing at the map, describing the fictional land from the book.

“that’s-” you’re about to say it’s not the outer banks, but you grab the book back quickly, flipping it over so you’re viewing it upside down, the shape of the outer banks quickly coming into view.

“how did i never realize?” you ask, mostly to yourself.

rafe laughs gently, placing a hand on your shoulder. “wanna go find it?”

you look up at rafe, eyes widening. “for real?”

rafe nods, looking at the book with you. “can you tell where it is?”

surprisingly, it is close to the barn you were hiding out in yesterday. “i know exactly where it is, but it’s under water now.” it’s not uncommon for the banks to change, and if you’re looking at it correctly, the X that marks the treasure is near the edge of the swamp.

“let’s go check it out.” rafe says, standing up and giving you a hand up, leading you out of the school with your hands intertwined. despite rafe saying that his dad is looking for you in charlotte, you’re both extra careful as you head towards the docks.

“it’s old, but this is my family’s fishing boat. it would be the least noticeable if we take this one.” rafe says, leading you onto an old but well kept boat, still large enough to have a small enclosed area in the hull.

you cuddle up next to rafe on the bench next to the helm, enjoying the cool breeze on your face as he easily guides the boat to your location.

you open up the book again, lit by the moon, as you try to tell where along the coastline it may be. “i think maybe 100 more yards.” you tell rafe, and he slows down. you eventually point to a spot, guessing it should be there. rafe pulls closer before examining the area, right on the edge of a swamp. the water isn’t deep, only around a foot at the spot you think it’s at, and it shouldn’t be too hard to get to.

rafe goes to jump out of the boat and swim the rest of the way, but you place a hand on his arm, stopping him.

“sharks, rafe.”

they’re rare in outer banks, but this area is a wilder section, and you really don’t want to risk anything.

“i guess it can wait until morning. don’t want you to worry about me out there.” rafe says with a laugh, pulling you into him. “you can go down to the cabin, i’m gonna anchor us.”

you head down the couple steps to the small cabin, noting that the bed is a single sleeper and very thin. you quickly change your close into a fresh pair you have in your bag, throwing the dirty clothes into a corner just as rafe comes down the steps.

he sits down on the bed before beckoning you over. you stand in front of him fingers coming up to toy with the loose ends of his hair that hang over his forehead.

“how are you doing?” rafe asks, placing his on your hips, thumbs gently rubbing.

“okay, i think.” you admit. rafe nods, but doesn’t look completely happy, knowing that there’s emotions bottled up inside of you, just waiting to come out.

“let’s go to sleep, yeah?”

you’re honestly not sure if you can sleep, but you nod, letting rafe lie down before carefully getting on the bed, having to lay on top of him due to lack of space, but he doesn’t complain at all having your head on his chest, his arms around you.

it takes you a while to sleep, but rafe’s soft breathing and the gentle rocking of the boat helps you drift off.

“i think i see it, babe!” rafe says, much to your surprise, considering he’s only been digging for a few minutes, the water immediately displacing any of the dirt he moves.

rafe has forced you to stay on the boat, insisting that he can do all the dirty work and you can stay safe and dry.

“no way!” you shout in disbelief with a laugh, watching as rafe leans down, reaching into the hole and pulling on something heavy.

“there’s still too much sand on top of it for me to pull it up, toss me that chain.” you toss rafe the chain, and he is able to connect it. he hops in the boat, soaking the floor, but you’re too excited to even care as he puts the boat into drive as you watch the chest come unstuck.

“it’s free!” you shout to rafe, who quickly stops and maneuvers the boat as closely as he can in the shallow water before hopping out, now able to push the chest onto the back of the boat.

“holy shit.” you say as he hops back on, giving him a wide-eyed look. “we really found it.”

“goddamn i can’t wait to open it. kiss me first though.” you completely ignore how soaking wet his clothes are and press into him as your lips meet, bodies flush.

the rush of emotions suddenly bursts out of you, tears rolling down your cheeks as you kiss rafe.

“you okay, princess?” rafe says, wiping away your tears, giving you a couple pecks across your cheeks and forehead.

“yeah, yeah.” you nod. “i just can’t believe my grandpa left this for me to find.”

rafe smiles at you, running his fingers over your cheeks before kissing you again, letting you relax against him for a moment.

“let’s open it.” you say excitedly, turning towards the chest, realizing that there’s a lock on it. “rafe.”

“i don’t have any tools to get it off on the boat.” rafe sighs. “we’ll have to take it back to land.”

“wait!” you go down to the cabin and grab the book, bringing it back up to the light to examine it closely. “grandpa wouldn’t just give this to me, lead me to the treasure, and not give me a way to open it…” you check the spine of the book, pressing and pushing it until a small piece of the leather flips back.

“the key!” you shout, pulling it out of where the pages bind to the backing.

“holy shit, babe, you’re a genius!” rafe says, taking the key from you and working it into the lock. it takes a minute due to how aged it is, but eventually it clicks open, and you’re able to open up the chest, revealing gleaming gold bars.

“it’s half full?” you question, but still reach in and pick up a gold bar. to be honest, it’s closer to a quarter full.

“y/n… do you know how your grandpa got his fortune?” rafe asks, picking up a gold bar for himself.

it never crossed your mind before. “no… do you think he found it and then reburied it for me to find?” “he must have. i mean, this is still a lot of money but…”

you know what rafe is saying. it isn’t really a life changing amount, not with the amount of money you both already have.

“i think i have a good idea of what to do with it though.”

rafe looks at you with hope in his eyes, “what is it?” //

it’s been two weeks since you’ve found the gold, and you dropped off the last bar today. while it isn’t a life changing amount for you, it can be for some people, and this was yours, but mostly rafe’s, way of giving back to the outer banks, distributing the gold to the people in the area who need it most.

“i’m so proud of you, you know?” you ask rafe, running your hands through his hair as you lay on your sundeck. rafe has moved in with you after walking away from his dad, who was pissed about not getting the gold, only until he found out how little it actually was.

“for what?” rafe says, nuzzling his nose into your side as his head rests against your stomach.

“you gave up that gold when you could have kept it. you chose to use it for good.” “you’ve changed me.” rafe says, turning so he’s hovering over you. “and i love you for it.”

you smile up at rafe, looping your arms around his shoulders and pulling him down into a kiss. “i love you too.”

#reupload!#rafe fic #rafe x reader #rafe fanfic #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron fanfic #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron blurb #rafe cameron drabble #rafe cameron one shot #rafe cameron fluff #obx fic #outer banks fic

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thatscarletflycatcher · 3 months ago

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Not to write meta about my ocs instead of writing the story itself, but I have been dwelling a lot on Percival's relationship with Avensley Hall.

Avensley Hall is a lot like Hamley Hall from Wives and Daughters, 100+ years and two world wars later. Ancestral home of small land owners, time, and lack of resources for maintenance have left it in very poor condition.

A very young Percival, in his high moments of triumph, dreamed of becoming a very famous -and rich- architect, who could, in time, bring his family home to its former beauty and splendor, and so bring more comfort and joy to his parents' old age. The war, his time on the desert campaign and later on in Italy, the death of his parents and subsequent suicidal disregard for his own life ending in the operation that disabled him physically and mentally, would have been the perfect set up for a rousing tale of strength, self reliance and determination to go from rock bottom straight to the top... had Percival been the choleric, proud, driven type. But Percival was not that man. He had, however, many other virtues: he was patient, methodical, generous, dutiful, principled.

And so he went home, after demobilization, a broken old man to a broken old home, and it was very easy for him to fall into this melancholy mood of sympathetic decay with the house itself. He was now, like it or not, "The Squire", no longer "young Percival" but Mr. Avensley; he wrapped himself in his father's clothes -as much an act of sentimentality as a product of war rationing- and set out to fill his role as best he could, without guidance or experience. Life now, he thought then, was for him a mausoleum where he was both corpse and sexton, and so he decided he would be there keeping the rotting place until he was done rotting himself. After all, how was he, tied down as he was by family duty and the mobility complications brought by the loss of his leg, to ever develop professionally? And how would he dare think of marrying, of dragging a poor woman down into his pit, where every night was a Russian roulette of insomnia and vivid nightmares?

He would have noticed the touch of silliness in this way of going about if it wasn't that he was really ill in his mind, and very isolated, as his sister had married a diplomat and gone abroad, and dear old Mrs. Andrews was a terribly serious and reserved woman, little inclined to humor or displays of affection. People in the town pitied him, and he did not like pity that wasn't his own, so he withdrew as much as he could, which only had the effect of intensifying the general pity towards him. The old ladies of Avensley, who had known him since he was a baby, were not above romanticizing him as a sort of lonely prince in a tower, and often wishing between themselves that a sweet girl bride -which they meant in the Victorian sense of young, innocent and beautiful- could be found to cure all his ills and cheer him up. How much Percival understood of this wish -which was mercifully never verbalized in his presence-, and how much it influenced his decision to further isolate, I rather not clarify.

So it is interesting when Nadine goes to live at Avensley, that she does not notice or think at first of what Percival considered a heavy-handed sympathetic metaphor of ruin in the narrative of his life. Perhaps it was because proud young men putting on brave faces was not a novelty to Nadine the way an old country house that has seen better days was, or a little wounded vanity at his apparent complete indifference towards her, or that nothing seemed to be the matter with him other than he was perhaps a bit too thin and a tad too impregnable, but she was clearly more attracted by the house at first than his owner. But then Nadine was a determined woman and she would befriend the man, and once friendship was established she started to see the likeness, but in a very different way. Percival, obsessed with light and air (we must forgive him, he is an architect after all) can only see the limitations, the constriction, the annoyances of stone and mortar and earth; Nadine, as she lets her old romanticism unsour her restless energy, sees strength, safety and warmth that has suffered the storms and survived, not unscathed, but all the same survived them.

Ultimately it is this contrast of perspective on who Percival is and who he can be that is at the crux of his part in the main conflict of the story, and an understanding that his circumstances are as much an opportunity as they are a limitation to flourishing so essential to its resolution. Just because a set of circumstances contrary to what his aspirations and plans once were is more or less forced upon him, it doesn't mean that there is nothing he can do, that all hope is lost.

The first Avensley of Avensley Hall was unwittingly wise when, in trying to draw from the Gospel maxim, wrote the Avensley family motto to be ex vetera nova, from the old, the new.

#Percival and Nadine #long post #that got kind of solemn and sappy but you all are kind and will forgive it #I didn't even read it over #really reaching the point where I'm thinking that if I never finish it I must at least write the concepts down

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sigynsilica · 1 year ago

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Conservatives be like "tHey'Re tRyiNg tO dEcOnStrUcT tHe fAmiLy uNiT"

Yes. Exactly. That is exactly my goal in life.

Then they be like "wElL yOu mUsT wAnT tHe wOrLd tO bE fUlL oF siNgLe pAreNtS"

You think it's LESS family I want? You have it backwards. It's MORE.

Let me explain.

One of the most integral parts of humanity is community. Humans are pack animals. We do better in groups, physically, mentally, and spiritually. Everything humans have accomplished, they did via teamwork.

This is a leading reason why I'm a socialist, because Capitalism is, by definition, the advancement of the individual over the collective. That's a concept that goes against human nature. Capitalism gives credit to one person for what a team of people did, and allows that one person to decide for themself what portions of the benefits of creating something goes to who. This despite the fact that the creation would not and could not be possible without the whole team of people. Even if one person creates one thing, they could not do it without materials harvested or tools invented or concepts thought of by someone else. Somewhere down the line, someone was pushing the buttons.

It's a very isolationist way of thinking, to claim that a CEO deserves more money for producing a product than the assembly line workers who actually made the thing.

This mindset has then been projected onto basically every single aspect of American life. (I can't speak for other countries because I've never been anywhere else)

People are their own human, and that means they can't ask for help. Collaboration is a myth, and the credit for anything really only goes to the head of the endeavor.

Enter the nuclear family.

One mom, one dad, and an assortment of children. The mom stays home and raises the kiddos and cleans the house and makes sure everyone has clean underwear and also finds time for sanity somewhere, while the dad works his butt off at a crappy corporate hellhole of a job. Add in some fundamental Christianity, because America Is A Christian Nation apparently, and you have pressure to homeschool. This only further enforces the isolation, the individual, the Doing Everything By Yourself as the only way to go.

This is why so many conservatives and fundamentalists like the Duggars so much. Think of it! Twenty homeschooled fundamentalist Baptist children, all raised to believe in God, while the dad does Politics and Mission Stuff at the church and the mom homeschools All of them.

And of course you have friends, right? But woe upon thee if your house isn't spick-and-span or the children are being disruptive when they come over. They can't see your mess. They can't see your imperfections. Nobody actually goes to their neighbors to ask for a cup of sugar. You should buy your own sugar. Jeez.

In this mindset and mentality, if your children are "unruly", that reflects badly on you as a parent. Your children are seen as an extension of yourself, and if you don't have everything in your life put together, you're getting judged by randos in the grocery store, now. If both parents need to work, just send your kid to the local daycare. What's that? You can't afford daycare? Hire a babysitter. What's that? You can't afford a babysitter? Hm. More judgement. Get the kid's granny to watch them or something.

So here's the facts. The more adults a child has in their life who show them support and are a safe environment for the child, the more the child will be likely to succeed in their adult life.

And by that definition, yes. I want to destroy the family unit. I want it gone.

The notion that if the two people who were directly responsible for the child's existence can't adequately provide for their child, that's it's a moral failing on their part? That's bullshit. I want it gone. If you need help raising a child, so does everyone else, and it should be socially okay to reach out to a trusted member of your community for help. It should also be socially okay for someone who you trust to want to care for a child with no financial compensation. Children are delightful.

Taking care of a child is hard work. Someone has to be on call 100% of the time for at least the first ten years of that kid's life.

Of course, in making the decision to have children, a parent should consider their capability of caring for the kid. But it shouldn't be their capability of caring for a kid ALONE. No one should have to raise a child alone.

Every parent should have a full support system to fall back on. Every person, let alone parent, should have a community of people who would be willing to help care for other people in their community, especially vulnerable people in that community, like children.

This is what I mean when I say I do want to destroy the family unit. I don't want any child to have to grow up in an environment where the only people who feel responsible for their safety are their parents.

Of course parents are responsible for a kid's safety, more than any other people on the planet, because the parents were the ones who chose to bring the kid into the world.

But they are not the only ones. They should not be alone. There should be no more talk of "well, your parents ought to teach you how to behave," because children learn from everything and everyone around them. You can't stop that. Not even if you try.

The thing is, parents should not, and cannot be the ultimate authority on life for their kids. My parents tried, while simultaneously insisting they weren't perfect, but if you grow up thinking only two people who are Biblically one person are the only ones who are right about things, you're going to have a lot of unlearning to do, no matter who those people are.

Humans, all of us, have a responsibility to look out for each other. Community is our greatest strength, and it's founded on the principle of all of us in a community having each other's backs.

So no more Two Heterosexual People being an island and a solitary beacon of what a family is supposed to be. A family is a community, and we all look out for each other. We all make sure we're safe and we have what we need to live. And we all teach each other things about how the world is.

#youth liberation #boo to christian family values #the whole world is my family #all for one and one for all #exvangelical #deconstructing conservative culture

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bubblesreplies · 2 years ago

Text

The Middle

Max Brinly X Female Reader

Oneshot

APPARENTLY IF YOU’RE READING THIS IN ANY DARK COLORED FORMAT ON TUMBLR (LIKE NIGHT MODE) IT LOOKS FUCKING WEIRD AND IDK HOW TO FIX IT I’M SO SORRY.

A/N: No, I'm not neglecting my other fics to write a random oneshot? Why would you even suggest---fuck it here it is besties. Anyways, this product of procrastination is dedicated and written for my bestie @house-of-kolchek, who loves Max as much as I do.

WARNINGS AND TAGS: NSFW 18+ ONLY, this is unedited and might be awful, Reader is Jacob's cousin, manipulative!Emma but like in a good way, BFF!Emma, Emma/Jacob, Abi/Nick, making Emma cooler than she is, sweetheart!Max, unrequited love (assumably), forced proximity, sex jokes, unsafe seating situations while driving DO NOT DO THIS PLEASE, lap-sitting, erections, staring down your shirt, teasing, love confessions, very very cheesy and idc anymore

Word Count: 8k

Main Masterlist

“EMMA, that is the stupidest idea in seriously the entire world.”

You meant it, too; you already thought that this little impromptu camping trip was an awful idea; the last time that the group of you were out in the woods, it ended with werewolves, so, could anybody really be blamed for not wanting to tempt fate? And now hearing Emma’s latest plan, you couldn’t help but say fuck this whole entire trip and its mom, too.

“Oh—come on!” Emma insisted with a pout across her face, leaning across her oversized suitcase—who in the world needed all of that space for a weekend camping trip? “Babes, you are my wing-woman here—my ultimate girl. Come on, please—Jacob won’t even look at me when we hang out. I really need your help with this!”

You sighed; a year ago, when the ten of you—eight, if you considered the fact that you hadn’t actually met two of the camp counselors until the end of the summer—worked at Hackett’s Quarry and endured that shitshow of a summer, you hadn’t even liked Emma. You didn’t like how she had your cousin, Jacob, mooning all over her like she owned the whole fucking Earth. You didn’t like the way that the nicest girl you’d ever met seemed to think she walked on water, too, and you did not appreciate the fact that she thought she was entitled to tell you all the ways that you were doing your makeup all wrong.

But then, that night happened. The night of the full moon, when your idiot cousin sabotaged the van just to get another night with the woman he’d fallen in love with who couldn’t give a rat’s ass about him. The night where the ten of you had miraculously survived werewolves, and a crazy-ass family trying to kill you all night. That night was what changed everything.

You’d gotten stranded with Emma running through the woods, and somehow landed yourself in a heated battle with Jacob—who had apparently been bitten by one of those things because he was now one of those things. He, obviously, tried to kill the two of you and Emma thought fast, using a piece of silver jewelry to save both of your lives and buy you enough time to get the hell out of there.

And then, you’d been locked in a room with her and Abi, the three of you not knowing if you would survive the night, and something just…changed. You began to see her differently, and from that point on, throughout this entire past year, the three of you had been best friends.

More you and Emma, if you were being honest, because Abi and Nick had just gotten engaged three months ago and most of her free time went to him.

Not that it hurt your feelings. If you somehow managed to bag the man of your dreams, you’d be spending every free moment with him, too.

“Jacob just…needs time,” you informed her with a groan, throwing your tennis shoes across the room as you frantically looked for your favorite pair of leggings. “He’s still hurt, you know? You can’t just tell him you didn’t mean any of it and then expect him to forgive you and jump back into your arms, Emma.”

“Which is why I need you to get me into his cabin this weekend,” Emma pleaded, getting up from her place on your bed and digging through your drawers as she pulled out the very clothes you were looking for. You swore that sometimes, it was literally like she could read your mind. “All we have to do is fake a fight; I will refuse to sleep in the same cabin as you, and then the boys will offer to switch with us. I’ll get a whole night—and a whole, isolated cabin—with Jacob; and you? Well, let’s not pretend that you aren’t benefitting from my little plan.”

You snorted, shimmying out of your jeans and pulling your leggings up over your legs, smiling as Emma nodded towards your ass in approval. If she thought that you looked good, you could rest assured that you damn well did.

“And how will I benefit from getting into a fake fight with you and causing a scene?” You questioned, your head cocked as Emma passed you your shoes and you eagerly slipped them on. The rest of your group would be here at any minute, and you didn’t want to keep them waiting.

“Because if I end up in Jacob’s cabin, you know who ends up in yours? Max.”

You whipped around and shot Emma a glare, shaking your head like you couldn’t believe that she would just mention his name all casually like that. You’d made her swear to never bring up your pathetic, unrequited crush on Max Brinly ever again, since the day she’d first found out that it even existed in the first place.

You first met Max when the sun came up after that hellish night at Hackett’s Quarry. You and Emma had run back to the island to see if Jacob was there and if he was alive, and you ended up running into Max instead. After lots of screaming and confusion, the two of you finally allowed him to explain just how in the fuck he had gotten there and who he was, which is when you learned that your one night of hell had lasted two months for him and his girlfriend.

Emma had found Jacob and ran after him, but you stayed behind with Max, talking and laughing at his jokes, attempting not to swoon at the adorableness that was his laugh. You had hoped, at the beginning of the summer, to find somebody just like him and have a summer romance. Somebody who was cute, who could make you laugh, and seemed to understand you instantly.

It didn’t work out that way, obviously—seeing as the summer had been over and Max Brinly had a girlfriend.

Laura eventually came back for him and you parted ways, assuming that this would be the last time that you would ever see Max Brinly, attributing your budding feelings for him as some sort of trauma response to the night that you had just been through.

Imagine your surprise when, a month after Hackett’s Quarry, the new co-worker that you were assigned to train at the coffee shop was none other than Max Brinly. You assumed right away that he wouldn’t even remember you—why would he?---but you were wrong. He knew exactly and immediately who you were, and the two of you hit it off just as well as you did the first time you had ever spoken to him. It wasn’t long before you were hanging out with him every single day, and he had slowly become your best friend.

You went to movies together, you got dinner, he came to all of the track and field competitions you ran in at your local university, you helped him study hard enough to get into a new graduate school—literally, anything that you could think of, the two of you did it together. You even stayed the night at each other’s apartments on occasion, both of you knowing what the other’s couch felt like pretty intimately.

In fact, the only time the two of you weren’t together was when Laura came to town to visit her boyfriend. Before she dumped him, at least.

It was nearly a month and a half ago now, that you had sat on this very bed with Max as he sobbed, asking you just to hold him and not ask any questions when he told you that he and Laura had broken up.

“Max isn’t into me, so that really doesn’t help your case,” you grumbled, your pissy mood only continuing to sour the more that you thought about it. After Max and Laura, you thought that you might actually stand a chance with him. After all, he spent all of his free time with you, and you knew that nobody in this world knew him as well as you did—and vice versa. But after the night that he’d sobbed with you, fallen asleep in your bed, and told you how he felt like years of his life were wasted with Laura, nothing ever happened.

He just went right on back to being the same old Max, your friend.

“Do you seriously still think that that boy has no feelings for you whatsoever?” Emma shrieked, watching as Jacob’s car pulled up from the window, hurriedly throwing her hair up into a sexily-tossed messy bun. “‘Cause, if you do, you’re so wrong that it isn’t even funny anymore.”

“Em, if he had feelings for me, then why didn’t anything change after he and Laura broke up?!” You interjected, a frown pulling at your lips as you grabbed your tiny duffel bag and hiked it up over your shoulder. “And also, why would he date Laura for so long if he actually, secretly liked me instead? Your logic isn’t logic-ing,” you insisted, and Emma smirked.

“You are so naive that it’s actually kind of cute,” she responded, rolling her eyes as Jacob opted to honk instead of being a gentleman and coming to the door. Emma sauntered over to you, playing with the ends of your hoodie and eyeing it suspiciously. “Look, just—help me with this plan, and you’ll see, okay? And change into that sexy little top I bought you last month for the car ride.”

“Emma!”

“Just trust me!” Emma insisted, pulling the hoodie up and over your head for you and tossing you the lacey black crop top she’d bought you last month. “Put it on—good, yes, I would so bang you—oh, and just in case you find out that Max also wants to bang you, I snuck condoms into your bag.”

“You have got to be kidding me, Emma!” You shrieked, although it was with a large smile on your face as you were, once again, blown away by the antics of your friend.

Emma only laughed as the two of you rushed down to the car, you having to help Emma with one half of her bag since she’d brought such a gigantic one. You’d barely made it to the door before there was a knock on it—apparently Jacob had decided to be a gentleman after all. Or he’d simply gotten impatient, which was the better bet of the two options.

“Keep your pants on cuz, we’re coming,” you hissed out, lowering your end of Emma’s bag to the ground as you ripped open the door to your apartment. Your annoyed glare dropped and your mouth fell open as you saw Max standing there, his cheeks red and running a hand through his freshly-cut red hair. “Max! I, uh, thought you were Jacob?”

Fuck, why did you sound so fucking awkward?! Your conversation with Emma had you paranoid and upset, and if you kept acting this way, Max would definitely notice. The two of you had crossed the awkward barrier a long time ago.

“Ah, nah,” Max answered, his signature smile flashing across his face and warming you up from the inside out. “Jake’s too possessive over that steering wheel to get his ass over to the door honestly.”

“That and he doesn’t want to have to speak to me,” Emma sighed, lugging her bag forward and hitting Max in the chest with it. You suppressed a giggle as he let out an “Oomph!”, but he caught your smile and playfully sneered at you. “Oh, what a gentleman! And damn, Max, I’ve never noticed how strong you are. Have you, Y/n?! Have you ever noticed those biceps?”

“Cut it out, Emma,” you hissed under your breath, grateful that Max had already turned around and was heaving her oversized bag to the trunk of the car. “I know what you’re doing, and it isn’t going to work on me.”

“What am I doing?” Emma asked with faux innocence, batting her eyelashes heavily down at you before she winked. “Just use it as fuel for our fake fire, if you want, babes. Besides—would it really kill you to admit in front of him that he looks good?! Give the boy a win, Y/n!”

“He does not think of me that way—”

“Hey, um, Emma?” Max called out as you were locking your front door behind you, and you turned and ran over to where he was pursing his lips behind the trunk. “Maybe we should’ve brought a bigger car, but, your bag is not going to fit back here.”

Emma turned to look and her lips, too, were pursed.

“Well, where’s everyone sitting?” She asked, peering her head into the car to check out the situation.

“Well, uh, Jacob’s driving—obviously—Abi and Nick are in the row of two seats behind him, and then he wants you to sit back in the last row with me while Y/n takes the passenger seat,” Max explained, using his hands to gesture to each person. Abi turned around to look at you from her place in the car, Nick’s head in her lap as he slept, and she waved. You waved back, grimacing at the large bag that was seated at your feet.

“Hmm, no, that won’t do,” Emma insisted with a wave of her hand, using all of her strength to heave her bag up and over the full trunk of the car and into the last row of seats. “It’s going to have to go here—and oh, I really didn’t sleep well last night, so if I don’t sit in the passenger seat, I’ll get sick.”

Max’s jaw dropped and he scoffed lightly, looking between the two of you as you held in a large groan.

“I don’t really see how that makes any sense?” He questioned.

“So Y/n will have to sit in the back, with you!” Emma finished with a gleeful squeal, hurrying to shut the trunk and turning to make her way to the passenger seat of the car.

“Um—hold on a minute, just where the fuck in the back will I sit?!” You barked out, gesturing incredulously to the monstrosity that was her luggage all over the back seat of the car. “Your bag is taking up the entire row—all but one seat, Em! And it’s way too fucking big to go down at our feet!”

Emma put a daintly little finger to her chin, and you could tell that she was only pretending to think about the predicament.

“Well, it’s only about a forty-five minute drive,” she informed you, a wicked smile pushing its way onto her lips. “It’s not that long, so, just sit on Max’s lap?”

Your eyes widened and you felt sweat beading on the back of your neck, your heart beating at an intensely quick pace just at the mere thought of having to sit on Max. One look at Max’s face showed he heard her suggestion, too, because it was unnaturally blank and pale.

You walked closer to Emma, pulling her into you as you said, “You better be fucking for real with your next suggestion, or we will get in an actual fight, Emma,” you warned her, your voice low enough that Max couldn’t hear it. You noticed that he was already ushering Nick and Abi out of the car, hurrying to his seat in the back, and the three of them were just waiting on you.

“Oh my g—will you just trust me, for once in your life?!” Emma begged dramatically, clinging onto your arm and giving you a little push towards Max. “Thank me later, hoe.”

Oh no, I will not be thanking you later, you sneaky little she-devil, you thought to yourself, climbing over Abi’s seat and landing ungracefully into Max’s lap. He caught you much more elegantly than you fell, luckily, and he helped you right yourself so that your back was facing his chest.

You turned your face towards him despite the fact that it was burning, and you brushed a strand of hair back behind your ear.

“You know, I could always just sit on her bag instead of on you,” you offered, geturing weakly over to the big problem that Emma had handed over to the two of you with a private sneer at her back. “That way I won’t crush your legs into tiny pieces of ash.”

Max actually laughed out loud at that and your heart swelled with a feeling of accomplishment; Max was funny, he had probably always been funny, and anytime that you had gotten him to laugh, you took it as a personal achievement.

“Please sweetheart, as if you could,” Max retorted, winding an arm around your waist as he pulled your back flush against his chest, leaving his arm to rest across your stomach and his fingers splayed across your hipbone. You closed your eyes, holding in a sigh as you prayed that he couldn’t see the way that your face had reddened from this angle. “Besides, this is probably the…safer option of the two.”

You heartily disagreed with that.

Still, you positioned yourself against him, awkwardly playing with your fingers on your lap as you had no idea where to rest your hands. You and Max were close, yes, but you had never physically been close, aside from a few silly moments of teasing tickles, accidentally falling asleep on his shoulder, or him resting his legs on your lap as the two of you watched a movie together. This was entirely new territory, and you had no idea what to do with it, and you knew that if Emma hadn’t forced this to happen, that Max wouldn’t have chosen to even be in this situation with you. Probably.

“Jacob, the drive is forty-five minutes?” You called up to him, wincing as you watched your cousin’s teeth grit in the rearview mirror as he attempted to ignore Emma completely.

“An hour, if traffic’s bad,” Jacob called back and you groaned, your leg shaking furiously in your nervousness. As if Max could sense that you were on edge—fuck, with the way that you were bouncing around he probably could feel it—his other hand landed on your thigh, rubbing calming circles around as he successfully got it to stop shaking.

“Sorry, I don’t know why I’m so anxious today,” you sighed, rubbing a hand down your face and leaning back into Max. You could hear his groan and you winced, assuming you had hurt him, as you instantly tried to reposition yourself to take some of the weight off of him.

After a few minutes of frantic wiggling, Max’s hands harshly gripped onto your waist, his fingernails digging into you as he held you tightly into place and you froze, your eyes wide and breath held.

“Y/n, please—stop.” Max’s voice was incredibly hoarse, coming out in a groan and you winced again, mortified that you had hurt him enough to elicit this sort of response.

“Oh shit, Max! I am so sorry—I was trying not to hurt you and then I did hurt you and—”

“Y/n!” Max interrupted, clearing his throat so that his voice sounded a lot more normal and less husky. “Honey, you’re not hurting me, just—don’t wiggle around right—there.”

Your eyebrows raised in confusion at his words and your brain couldn’t process what the hell he was saying, so you just opted to nod, leaning forward as far as you could and beginning a conversation with Abi as you tried with every ounce of your being to not put much weight on Max. It took every ounce of concentration that you had to not think about the fact that you were touching the love of your life and focus on Abi’s words about wedding planning, but somehow, you did it.

“Hey, uh, Jake?” Max suddenly called out, and you noticed that his voice had gone hoarse again and that his tone was tight and clipped. Higher than normal. You frowned; in your conversation with Abi, you had slipped a little further backwards than you’d realized, back into his lap. “How much longer?”

“Thirty minutes,” Jacob growled, and you noticed Emma looking a little offput herself. “It’s looking closer to an hour total at this point.”

“Alright then, we need to stop,” Max insisted and you stifled a pathetic whine, embarrassed that you were this hard to bear just sitting on his lap. It probably didn’t help that you were still actively avoiding any and all contact with him, practically leaving him here in the backseat to talk to himself as you ignored him, anxious and letting Emma’s words get to your head.

You needed to stop. You and Max were friends. Good friends, and you were being absolutely ridiculous about this whole thing.

Three minutes later, Jacob pulled off at a reststop and you lifted off of Max instantly, watching him scamper out of the car after Abi and Nick and hurrying into the men’s restroom. With everyone out of the car but you and Emma, you climbed over the seats and sat between her seat and the driver’s seat, staring at her with wide eyes.

“So,” you started out, pointedly ignoring the tears in her eyes, knowing she wouldn’t want to talk about it right now. “Your plan to make me sit on Max is not working; I can barely say two words to the guy, and his poor legs are getting crushed by me. He probably can’t think of anything but leg cramps!”

“Oh, please,” Emma scoffed, dabbing at her eyes with a tissued and waving your worries away with a flick of her hand. “Look at him, and look at you; there must be some other reason he needs a break.”

“Oh yeah?” You fought back, crossing your arms over your chest as you frowned at your friend. “Like what, exactly? It’s not working Emma, you’re miserable up here, and I am back there; we should just switch places. You’re smaller than me.”

“I am not,” Emma sighed.

“All I know is one minute, I can’t sit still, and the next minute, he’s grabbing my hips and telling me to stop wiggling around,” you continued on, as if Emma hadn’t even interjected. “What else could it be if not that I was—”

You instantly stopped talking as Emma looked over to you, mouth opened and eyes glinting with excitement.

“You poor naive little thing!” She giggled, pulling your arms so that you were practically sitting on her lap. “Y/n, you aren’t hurting him—you’re turning him on and he doesn’t want you to feel it!”

You felt pinpricks across your face as the entire thing turned white, and you were suddenly feeling a little nauseous.

“What?” You questioned, shaking your head lutching nervously at your hair. “What? I—no, Max isn’t—he wasn’t—”

“Oh, yes, yes he was,” Emma argued, and there was a light in her eyes that replaced whatever sadness she had been feeling before you came up there to talk to her. “Okay, do exactly as I say; when Max comes back out to the car, sit back on him just like you were that first time. Wiggle around a bit again—”

“What? No!”

“Just trust me—wiggle around a little bit again, then ask him if he wants to watch something with you on your phone. When you turn it on, lean back against him so that your back is arched and he gets a good, full view down your—”

“Okay, and this is where I officially stop you, you are crazy,” you intoned, shaking your head and leaning away from your friend. “Max is not into me—in case you managed to forget about that, babes—and besides, I can’t just show him my boobs, Emma! They’re my—boobs. They’re, like, private.”

“Holy fuck, how are you not a virgin,” Emma groaned, shoving you back towards your seat as she pointed eagerly out of the car. “Okay, babes, here he comes—just trust me, okay?! Do it!”

You opened your mouth to argue again, but the words fell from your lips as the car door opened and Max poked his head inside, grinning over at you as his eyes darted back and forth between you and Emma.

“What, uh, what’s going on here?” He asked, and you shot a glare at Emma as she giggled, hiding her face in her shirt and sending an ominous wink your way. You tried as well as you could to tell her to shut up with your eyes, but she ignored you in typical Emma fashion.

“Nothing,” you replied, shaking your head and sending him a smile. “I was just feeling nervous about getting away this weekend and Emma was talking me down. That’s it.”

“Ah,” Max yawned, heading back to his seat and patting his lap for you to join him. You blushed. “Is that why you’re acting so weird? You haven’t spoken to me for the last, like twenty-five minutes.”

“Yeah, sorry, just nervous,” you insisted, climbing back over Abi’s seat and settling yourself on top of Max’s lap. As you looked up after readjusting, your eyes met Emma’s in the rearview mirror and she nodded, looking from you to Max’s…well…yeah.

You cleared your throat, feeling the burn of your phone in your pocket as you stared widely back at her, conveying that she was being way too obvious, here. Regardless, a part of you was…curious, now, and with Laura out of the picture and Max completely single, it’s not like a little testing of the waters was inappropriate anymore. What could it hurt, really? Max was too nice to reject you, so if he wasn’t into it, he just wouldn’t say anything and you’d let it go forever. But, if he really was into it—

Well that was the best-case scenario, wasn’t it?

So, you shifted; nothing crazy and nowhere close to grinding—just a small, flick of the hips that brushed right up against his crotch. Max’s breath hitched and you froze, wondering if you’d truly heard that right, completely distracted from the fact that Abi and Nick were re-entering the car and that Jacob was starting it again, getting ready to head on the road once more.

A hitch of a breath wasn’t enough of a confirmation for you, so you shifted once again, and then again and then again, and this time Max’s hands lifted back up to your hips, grasping for dear life as you settled your ass back down to his crotch, turning your head to watch as his eyes shut tight and he bit his lip.

“Y/n—”

“Do you want to watch part of a movie with me?” You interrupted, watching as Max’s eyes flashed open, a glint of pain underneath them that had you second-guessing what had just happened. Max smiled down at you, though—that brilliant smile that God had blessed him with—and nodded.

You had no idea what you were going to watch, but your fingers worked anyway, hurriedly typing some stupid TikTok compilation that you hoped he wouldn’t get too distracted by. Max laid his chin on your shoulder, his hands that were gripping your waist winding around your front and interlocking as he held you, his face snuggling slightly into your neck.

Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, your mind reiterated as you slowly breathed out, your heart pounding wildly in your chest as you silently prayed that Max couldn’t hear it, and that he couldn’t feel the way that your skin had suddenly heated up and become sweaty. It wasn’t even that cuddling with Max was anything new—as a person, he was a fucking lapdog—but it was the fact that you had never sat on his fucking lap before while cuddling. Never had intentions to turn him on, never gave him this much of a glance down your lowcut shirt—

Y/n, don’t be a pussy, your inner Emma chastised and you shut your eyes tight and sucked in a breath, desperately trying to convince yourself not to go through with this. But damn it—you sort of wanted to and, so far, Max hadn’t shown a single sign that he’d wanted you to sit anywhere else.

It was halfway through the video that you forgot the rest of the people in the car and arched backward without a minute to second guess yourself, pretending to stretch your arms above your head as you knew you were, successfully, letting Max have a perfect show of your black lacy bra underneath your shirt, and under that, the perfectly rounded mounds of breasts that it pushed up.

You heard a sharp inhale and dared a look at his face; he was as white as a ghost, and even his perfectly placed freckles had gone impossibly paler—and yet his eyes, those gorgeously sea-colored orbs, were still staring down your shirt, transfixed, as he studied your figure.

“Alright, everybody out!” Jacob suddenly called out, and the two of you jumped, Max’s eyes meeting yours as he was brought back to reality. His eyes, no longer clouded over with lust, widened and a blush spread unevenly across his face as he realized that he’d been caught watching you. “We’re here!”

“Y/n,” Max breathed out, whipping his arms away from you and running nervous hands through his newly cut hair. “Shit, Y/n, I’m so sorry, I—I wasn’t—I mean I was but…” You smiled as he stuttered along, a giggle framing your mouth and escaping out of your lip, causing Max’s gaze to whip back onto you. You couldn’t help it; he was always so damn cute when he was flustered.

“Does it make it any less creepy if I’m aware that staring down your shirt is creepy?” Max asked, equal parts timid and teasing. You laughed aloud at that, the two of you lingering in the backseat of the car while the rest of the party headed out.

“It’s fine, Max,” you insisted with a shrug and a wink, conveying in every way possible that you weren’t completely innocent here either. “No one wears a bra like this for it not to be seen, sweetheart.”

The words coming out of your mouth shocked even you, and Max’s entire jaw fell open as he stared at you in complete and utter disbelief.

“Whoa, Y/n,” he reared away from you, just to get a better look at your face, testing to see if you were saying what he thought that you were saying. His hands found their way to your waist again and he touched you softly, his thumbs running up and down the curves of your hipbones as he stared in wonder down at you. “Are you saying that you wanted me to—”

“Are you two gonna get out of the car, or do you plan on freezing your little asses off all night?!” Jacob called out as he forced open the trunk of the car, staring in disbelief at the two of you still sitting there. You both jumped, eyes turning to Jacob with guilty blushes, and you didn’t waste another second climbing off of Max and over the seats, pushing your way past Jacob and onto the dirt-clodded driveway.

Taking your bag from your cousin and asking a hurried, “Where’s our cabin again?” You received directions and hurried off in the direction of the cabin that you and Emma were supposed to share, attempting to outrun Max so that he couldn’t question you any further.

What the hell had you been thinking?! You hadn’t, obviously, and you’d let Emma’s skewed opinion get to you. Now, you had to come up with a solution for some serious damage control before Max got to you with his, What’s gotten into you today? And his, Look, I know you must have been kidding, or his I’m sorry Y/n, I’m just not attracted to you that way—

“Fuck,” you muttered to yourself, throwing open the door to the cabin and chucking your suitcase onto the empty bed. Emma was standing on the other side of the room, facing the bathrooms, but she jumped and turned around when she heard the slam of the front door. “Fuck this whole plan, Emma, and fuck my stupid self too. I can’t believe that I actually let myself believe that Max was really into me and I—holy shit, are you crying?!?”

Emma’s pretty hazel eyes were red-rimmed, but the telltale giveaway that she’d been sobbing was the tear tracks of black mascara spreading down her cheeks and clumping up near her pointy chin.

Once her mind had registered your question, she began sobbing once again, her hands coming up to cover her eyes and you ran to her, throwing your arms around her neck and feeling her own arms go around your waist as she sobbed into your neck heartily.

“Honey, what happened?” You asked, but your voice was muffled by your much taller friend’s collarbone. You pulled away from her and sat her down on her bed, sitting down next to her and taking her hand in yours. “Emma, what did my idiot cousin say to you? You know that big dummy acts completely on emotions, so whatever he said, I’m sure it was just in the heat of the—”

“He meant it,” Emma interrupted you, pulling her hand out of yours and using it to wipe her eyes. “But I don’t even want to talk about it right now, so—tell me what happened with Max.” You opened your mouth to protest but she shot you her “Emma” look—the look that told you that arguing would quite literally be pointless. So, you sighed, letting yourself fall backward onto the bed and groaning as your head hit the awfully lumpy mattress she’d been provided tonight.

“I don’t know what happened, Emma,” you admitted with a whine, feeling her lay down beside you and cuddle her head into yours comfortingly. “It was like I had this sudden, insane boost of confidence and I was like…grinding on him and giving him a full show of my boobs—”

“You do have great boobs—”

“And then when he noticed that I caught him staring at my breasts, I kindofsortofmaybe insinuated that I wanted him to look down my shirt and then he was about to ask me if I really meant that I wanted him to see me naked and then Jacob interrupted us and I freaked out and ran away.”

Emma just stared back at you, blinking occasionally, as if she were really confused.

“Why?” She finally asked, staring down at you in confusion. You blinked back at her, shaking your head bewilderedly.

“Wait, why what?”

“Why did you run away, you fucking dumbass!” Emma insulted, but it was loving and the two of you laughed as she pushed you off the bed and you squealed. “Seriously, Y/n, what the fuck? You ran away? After doing all of that you just ran?”

“I was scared!” You defend your actions with a hiss, pulling yourself up off of the floor and planting down next to her again. “Fuck, Emma, Max is my best friend. I cannot risk freaking him out and losing him, okay? I just…can’t, okay, he means…he means everything to me, Emma, he’s the most important person in the whole world. He’s my best friend.”

“Ouch,” Emma responded, but there was a fond smile on her face and a happy gleam in her eyes as she gazed down at you. “Babes, you know that you’re the most important thing in the world to him too, right? Even if he didn’t feel the same way about you, he wouldn’t let this ruin your friendship. You know that, right?”

You shrugged and looked away from her, playing with your hands as you avoided the question. Did you know that? No, not really. Yeah, the two of you were really close, and yeah, he spent most of his free time with you, but that didn’t mean that this wasn’t something that would freak him out enough to ghost you.

“Shit, if I was going to do something as fucking ridiculous as this, I should have just bit the and told him how I felt,” you finally responded with a sigh, pushing yourself off of the bed and shuffling your feet over the cold, hardwood floor. “But you know, maybe this way, there’s some way that I can play it off?”

“Okay babes, I’m just going to say this once and I’m going to say it outright,” Emma cut you off, standing in front of you and forcing your chin up to look your much taller friend in the eyes. “I know why they broke up, Y/n. The real reason, and if you just fucking ask me I will tell you right here, right now.”

The offer was, obviously, tempting; and two or three years ago you’d probably be a lesser person and taken that offer. As it was, though, you valued Max and his privacy, and if he’d wanted you to know, he would have told you himself.

“No, I don’t want to know,” you insisted, pursing your lips and pulling away from Emma. “It isn’t any of my business, and Max made that abundantly clear by not telling me inthe first place.”

“Of fucking course,” Emma groaned with a shake of her head, rolling her eyes at you and then fixing you with a glare. “The two of you are both so stupid.”

“Gee, thanks Em.” Your words fell flat as you shot her your own sharp look and she gulped, having the common decency to at least look like she felt bad for saying what she did. “Besides, why do you even know the reason Laura dumped him?”

“Laura didn’t dump Max—Max dumped Laura,” Emma clarified and your heart dropped into your stomach. The piece of news, realistically, probably should have made you feel better, but it didn’t. It only made you feel worse, like your heart had been stomped on and used up. Because—if that was true—if Max had dumped Laura—then why had he been so upset that night when he came over to your house? And why the fuck had he lied to you about it?

“What?” You asked, your voice tiny and fragile, and Emma looked back at you, confused.

“Max broke up with Laura,” Emma repeated, and was somehow completely missing the broken, wounded look that was written all over your face. “He dumped her, because he wasn’t in love with her, Y/n, he realized that he was—”

“Emma.”

Jacob’s voice pierced through the air, and the two of you jumped towards the sound, to where your cousin was currently glaring daggers towards your best friend. Emma immediately shut up, shooting you a guilty look as she moved farther away from you and towards Jacob.

“Y/n, can you please give us a moment?” Jacob asked, his throat froggy and having to clear it as he continued staring at Emma. When you saw the raw, heated look pass between them you excused yourself quickly, knowing that whatever feud they were having was about to be made up in tenfold. You forgot to bring your suitcase with you—not even thinking that you’d effectively be kicked out of your cabin for the night—as you ran outside, outside to the nothingness that awaited you.

No, seriously.

There was not a soul out here, Abi and Nick notably missing and Max even nowhere to be seen—not that you even wanted to see him right now anyways. Your heart was barely beating in your chest at the revelation that he’d lied to you—you, supposedly his closest friend—about something that was so huge. Then again, maybe he had no idea how huge it was to you. He didn’t at all, actually, because he had no idea that you were so annoyingly and stupidly in love with him.

“Fuck this day, and fuck everyone else,” you groaned to yourself as you plopped down on a metal bench under a canopy, covering your eyes with your hands as you whined.

“That an invitation?”

Max’s voice sent your blood running cold and you jumped, shocked, turning yourself towards him as he stood slightly behind you, watching you warily. His face was red, but he was smiling at you, and he made his way over and sat at the bench opposite you slowly.

The two of you stared at each other for a while—one of you, optimistically nervous, and the other of you having had your heart shattered into a million little pieces just ten minutes ago. Neither of you said anything, unsure of what exactly you should say, for a long time until finally, Max broke the silence.

“Y/n,” Max spoke, clearing his throat from the nervousness that threatened to choke and overtake him. “About what you said in the car—”

“You lied to me.”

You hadn’t intended for it to come out like that, but there it was, and there was no taking it back now.

Max reared back, astonishment registering across his perfect features.

“I—what?” He shook his head back and forth, as if he couldn’t quite comprehend what you were saying. “I lied about—about the car?”

“No Max, not about the fucking car!” You swore, rising from your seat in your anger. Max followed quickly, a gentle hand on your elbow that you quickly ripped out of his grasp. “You lied to me about—about Laura! You told me that she—that she broke up with you, Max! You were heartbroken, you were crying, you lied!”

You thought that there were tears streaming down your face but you couldn’t really tell at the moment. All you could feel was the adrenaline that was being fueled by your anger, and all you could see was the shock that hadn’t left Max’s face since you’d first spoken.

“Who told you that?” Max questioned, and the fact that he wasn’t denying it made you even more upset and you huffed, turning around on one heel and heading towards—fuck, you had absolutely nowhere to go.

“Does it matter?” You answered, turning back around and accepting the fact that the only way you were going to get to be alone was if Max went back to his cabin and left you here and, knowing him, that wasn’t likely to happen. “You lied, Max. And I’m pissed about it. That’s the only thing that you should care about.”

You still hadn’t turned around to face him, so he made his way in front of you instead, placing tentative hands on both of your arms and levelling his face with yours.

“Sweetheart, please look at me.” Fuck; you were weak anytime that Max called you sweetheart and you knew that he knew it, too. Hating yourself just a little bit more for it, you looked up at him, unaware of how your big, sad eyes caused every cell in his body to melt.

“Why did you lie to me?” The question slipped through your lips without your consent and Max sighed, releasing your arms and pressing a hand into your hip so that you couldn’t get away again.

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” Max answered simply and you reared back, out of his touch, away from his hold, as you scoffed in response.

“You didn’t want to hurt me?” You shrieked, pulling farther away from him and pushing your hands out in front of you to stop him when he tried to reach out for you again. “What the fuck—how the fuck would that have hurt me, Max?”

Max winced, running a nervous hand through his hair, and inspected his surroundings, as if he wished somebody else would come out any minute now.

“Y/n, you are my best friend,” Max pleaded, and you could see the desperation in his eyes but you had no idea why he was so upset. “You know me better than anybody else in this entire world, honey, please—can you give me the benefit of the doubt on this one? Can you let me tell you when I’m ready?”

“No, Max, obviously I cannot do that because obviously it has something to do with me!” You retorted sharply, angry tears burning hot at the corners of your eyes, hotter than normal, devastated tears. “Like—what is going on, Max? I hae this feeling that everybody’s in on this secret, everybody but me—and I should know it, I should know what’s going on with you—”

“Y/n, sweetheart!” Max interrupted again, and this time, he successfully gathered your hands into his. “Look, I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry that I lied—really I am, but—why is it so important to you?” You glared back at him, pulling your hands out of his grasp and beginning to walk away from him. “Why is it such a big deal that I didn’t tell you the whole truth?”

“Because I’m in love with you, you idiot!” You screamed back at him, your body turning back around on its own accord as the screech left your mouth. You both heard the words echo against a canyon somewhere, and you blanched, unaware of what you’d actually said and the weight of them until they hit you in the chest on the reverb.

Max’s mouth had dropped open and he stepped away from you in shock, his hands coming up to frame his cheeks, never making actual physical contact with his face. He stared back at you, his eyes wide and full of wonder, as if he were seeing you for the first time, all over again.

“You’re—” Max gulped, but he took a step closer to you, a smile adorning his freckled cheeks. “You’re in love with me? Really?”

Your heart sunk again when he spoke and you shook your head, backing away from him and pressing two fingers to the bridge of your nose as you suddenly felt an oncoming migraine.

“I’m sorry Max,” you apologized, feeling a bout of nausea spring up in your stomach as you realized that you’d just past the point of no return. “Shit, I’m so sorry, I should have never even said anything—I should have let it go—”

“I broke up with Laura because I’m in love with you.”

The words came out quickly, like Max was afraid that if he hadn’t said them as quickly as he did that he wouldn’t say them at all. You reaction was surprisingly slow compared to everything else you’d done in haste tonight, and you dropped your hands from your face and gazed up at the man in front of you, who was staring back at you with awe.

“W—what?”

“I love you,” Max repeated, taking another step towards you with his light, airy chuckle that you loved so damn much. “And I didn’t tell you that night I broke up with Laura because I thought that you’d think I was lying, or that you were a rebound, and you’re not, Y/n. You’re absolutely not—I’ve loved you for a long enough time that I’m a total asshole for letting it go on with Laura for as long as I did.”

“Then why—why did you—”

“I lied because I didn’t want you to think that any of this was your fault,” Max continued, and he was so close now that his arms were winding around your waist and his forehead was pressed to yours. “I just—I knew, the second I saw you again in that coffee shop, that it was fate. And I lied to myself, hoping that my relationship would just fizzle out on its own and that I wouldn’t have to hurt anyone but—fuck, I would break Laura’s heart a thousand times over if it meant that I might get to be with you in the end,” Max finished, and you were stunned silent, unaware of how to speak anymore.

“Do I—” Max took a sharp inhale of breath and a step back to assess your face. “Do I get you in the end?”

You smiled back at him before pressing your lips so tightly to his, wrapping your body so hard around his own, that the two of you could barely breathe in anything that wasn’t lingering on each other’s bodies.

“You had me,” you answered in between breathless kisses, in between promises, in between hopeful smiles. “You had me at the beginning.”

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