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solbaby7 · 9 months ago

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Az is so🤤🤤 toxic men in real life repulsive me but Az does it soooo well.

Can you do a slutatious reader meets possessive Az?

Like he refuses to make it official so she continues about her life and he stay hearing rumors about her activities. He doesn’t want to be another fuck buddy but he’s also holding back from her and that pisses her off and encourages her to continue w her endeavors.

I’m talking screaming fighting throwing shit toxic🤭

i love your work mamita, I’ll read ur fics all day😩🤧

Maneater

pairing: azriel x reader

warnings: toxic relationships, possessive!az, promiscuous girl, swearing, sexual themes, lemme just say thank god for this request, probably typos

—

“You’re not wearing that.”

“And who’s going to stop me?” The retort comes easily, all too familiar with this dance. You continue as if he’s not there, staring at the material that molds to your curves like second skin. The entire back is out, the sultry swoop accentuating the fullness of your ass even if the front was fairly tame. Curled hair is flicked over your shoulder, lashes flirty and lips glossy as you reach for your clutch.

A shadow beats you to it, sliding the clutch just out of your reach and a slightly agitated smile quirks at the corner of your mouth as you turn to face him. “I mean it. If that’s what you’re wearing, then you aren’t going.”

A brow raises, eyes taking in the perfect structure of Azriel’s face, the strong neckline and tattoos that crept up the left side. Rippling muscles strain against the black top; a pleasant contrast from his usual leathers and you nearly forget his audacity when appreciating his physique. “You must have the wrong room, Az.” You can’t help yourself but to touch, two manicured fingers dragging down the middle of his abdomen. Nails catch on the belt holding his breeches in place and the teasing tug has his pupils dilating. “Possibly confused me with one of those simpering females with damsel in distress tendencies? The ones who actually allow the tone you’re taking with me right now. ”

“I know exactly whose room I’m in,” Unashamed possessiveness radiates from every word and the step he takes to close the distance has an annoying effect on your body. “Just like I know exactly who won’t be leaving it if you don’t walk back over to that closet and change.”

“I have no reason to listen to you,” Azriel refused to admit it out loud, but he secretly loved this part—the pushback. The flirtatious flutter of your lashes and the seductive scent lacing every inch of glistening skin. “You have no claim over me. I’m a free female,” You know exactly what you’re doing; goading him with the same implications of the relationship that you and Azriel had been dancing around for the better part of a decade. It could’ve been different, could’ve spent more time making love rather than hate fucking against any sturdy surface after the shadowsingers jealousy had gotten the best of him after hearing yet another rumor about your latest conquest. “Free to do whom and whatever I please.”

He’s too good at feigning restraint when he truly was grappling for purchase; falling victim to such feminine curves and unwavering confidence. You peered up at him without fear, heart rate steady in his presence and he just barely catches the slightest hitch of your breath when Azriel’s hand wander up the bodice of the dress. Familiar fingers brush over the thick of your thighs, up the soft curve of your belly, taking special time over supple breasts and peaked nipples. Foolishly, you lean into the touch, goosebumps beginning to dot at your spine when the fabric rips in two. “It’s adorable that you believe that.” He doesn’t acknowledge your surprised expression, hands hovering over the ruined material as if it would magically sew back together. “Don’t ever make me repeat myself again.”

“You just—“

“I will see you there—in something much more appropriate, I’m sure.”

Azriel’s gone before you can respond, a humorless laugh passing glossy lips as you shuck off the remnants of your dress. High heels stomp against hardwood floors as you make your way to the closet, ripping through shades of deep navy’s and obsidian until your sights set on a sexy little number saved for special occasions.

A sinister smirk forms as you slip into it, eyes almost sparkling as you regard yourself in the full length mirror.

The halter neckline crosses at the chest, cupping cleavage with ease as the intricate golden bustier cinches at your sides, creating the illusion of wider hips and ensures nothing less than an elegant posture when you stride inside. Soft silks and chiffon kisses at the length of your legs, grazing over painted toes in painfully high heels but it pulls the attention you were searching for. Necks craning and hungry eyes eat up every dip and curve of your figure, mouths salivating at the liquid gold that pushes up the weight of your breasts. “You’re late,” Rhysand voice murmurs in your mind, utter boredom creeping into his every feature.

Your eyes slide to Azriel when you answer, anticipation buzzing beneath the surface of your body. “Wardrobe malfunction.”

To anyone else, the shadowsinger would appear to be the embodiment of stoicism.

But you knew that hard line of his shoulders, the barely restrained tick of his jaw, the slight flexing of his fingers around the thick arms crossed over his chest. The firelight crackles around him, golden light casting perfect shadows that nearly blend seamlessly to the ones that sang to him. With each step closer to the dias, those shadows grow more agitated, wiggling restlessly at Azriel’s feet, stretching up the length of his back to whisper in his ear.

You play coy too well, nodding respectfully to the High Lord and Lady before taking your place but those shadows shove you in closer. Close enough to feel the warmth radiating from Azriel’s towering form, the wings held high behind him subconsciously tucking you out of view. “Appropriate enough for you?”

“You are the most stubborn female I have ever met in my entire life.”

“I wouldn’t have to be if you’d just admit it.”

He pretends not to care, masking desperate glances with hardened side eyes. The grip on his crossed arms gets tighter, barely refraining from the urge to drag you away from all the eyes greedily eating up your form as if it were a six-course meal with desserts on the side. “Admit what?”

“That you want me.”

That you love me the same way I love you.

That you don’t want it to just be a game anymore either.

Azriel doesn’t answer right away, doesn’t even look your way but the sneer that curls at the edge of his perfect mouth was enough to have your confidence faltering. “I have better things to do with my time than chase after some harlot.”

Your brows snap up, nearly blending in with the seam of your hairline. He regrets every word when the teasing spark fades from your eye. Taking a sizable step away from him, your face goes hard like steel, nose scrunching with barely concealed humiliation and your teeth bare like a wild animal when Azriel reaches out to touch. “Don’t,” Angry tears make your eyes go glassy but not once does your voice waver. “Just stay the hell away from me.”

Rhys had already dismissed the others, waving a lazy hand and music fills the space. The strong smell of food permeating the air and you’re quick to blend into the gathering crowd, making a beeline for the elegant champagne pyramid tucked on the other side of the room.

Your hands shake when you grab the first glass, taking it back more like a shot than a classy sip of the flute but you just needed your hands to stop shaking—your heart to stop racing. One drink quickly turns to three and you’re well on your way to a fourth when a hand curls around your shoulder. “Fueling up for me?” The familiar drawl of Autumn’s first born heir reaches your ear, halting your display of gluttony.

This was why you were here—in Hewn City, prancing about the Court of Nightmares. Acting as a pretty faced guide the Night Court provided as light entertainment before Eris would be escorted off to the private meeting room two halls down. You’d amuse a few dances, allow him to talk your ear off and pretend you don’t notice his fingers inching down the curve of your spine. “There’s not enough alcohol in the world to prepare me for you, Vanserra.”

His brow raises, a sly smirk growing as the lights from the iron-wrought chandeliers casted their shadows against the burnt copper of his hair. Warm eyes trail down the length of your form, a single finger twitching when taking in intricate details of your gold bodice; the rich fabric that was so dark it almost seemed blue in certain light. “Are you flirting with me?”

“No, I’m just hot and talking.”

Eris is just as bold as you remember, laughing softly under your breath at his proximity when you’ve turned around for another glass but a quick hand has swiped it from your grasp before a single drop can coat your tongue. “You’re testy tonight.” You can feel the cool caress of Az’s shadows curling around your ankle, a silent claim that has your teeth gritting against each other.

For once, you amuse the Autumn heir and his playful fire, dancing into the thick of his flame when you allow him to finish your drink and guide you to the dance floor with the others. “I double booked,” You lie easily, following his lead effortlessly as if you didn’t feel that cool wisp of a shadow steadily clamping tighter against your ankle. Low chatter blocks out the ability for others to eavesdrop but you can feel those golden eyes burning holes into the side of your face—to the bare strip of skin at your hip where Eris’ hand rested for the entire duration of the dance. “Can’t help the attitude that lingers knowing that I have to spend my night prattling about with you when I could’ve been indulging in multiple orgasms.”

A laugh that’s smooth like whiskey escapes Eris, a hint of a dimple forming on his left cheek and you hate that you notice the perfect lines of his teeth; his bottom lip that was fuller than the top, the slight bump on the bridge of his nose indicating it’d definitely been broken at least once in his life. “There’s ample time before my meeting if you’d like to have your cake and eat it too.”

“Maybe I’d agree,” You make a show out of examining him, subtly inhaling the spice of his cologne. Handsome but not Azriel. “If the ‘cake’ was a different flavor.”

Eris doesn’t falter for a second, even with the entirety of your Inner Circle’s attention fixed on him and the hands he had on your body. The deep baritone of his voice rumbles against your chest, nipples pebbling at the sensation. “Close your eyes then,” Words whisper at the lobe of your ear and the glittering jewel poked through it. “You can pretend I’m whoever you want with my tongue between your thighs.”

A witty remark crawls to the tip of your tongue, readying itself to leap off when that ghost chain around your leg pulls taut. There’s only enough time for your eyes to widen before you’re tugged away from Eris like a dog on a leash. It leads you out of the room and into the hall, refusing to loosen even a touch when you stubbornly resist but there’s no point when you’re cloaked in shadows. You barely notice the scenery change before you’re back at home and tossed over a shoulder. “You stupid, brutish, ape of a male!” Your shouts echo through the empty halls, bouncing off closed doors as Azriel strides through the foyer like he was on a mission. “Put me down right now!” Every word is coupled with the palms of your hands slapping at his thighs and digging into the back of his knees. One hand cranes back to dig into the thick of his hair and tug—hard.

Azriel’s hand is harder though, pure heat burning against the skin of your ass when it connects with a deafening clap. “Shut up.”

Your jostled back into place, cheeks warm and hands frozen where they’re bunched in the fine material of his dress shirt. “Az—“

His hand comes down once more and this time you yelp, teeth biting into the fat of your bottom lip as he clears the stairs and makes a sharp left. “I told you to shut up.”

Every bone in your body screams for you to comply, primal instincts igniting deep within advising you take the route of self-preservation but your pride overrides better judgement. “And I told you, I’m a free female. Let me go, right now!” You squirm once more, legs kicking and arms clawing for release when you’re roughly thrown off his shoulder and shoved into the wall in a motion so fluid it takes the air from your lungs.

Fuck your pride for letting her mouth write checks your ass couldn’t cash.

You’d never seen such darkness in such a vast sea of gold, the whole pupil of Azriel’s eyes blown out like a feral animal salivating at the mouth. “Do you feel like a free female right now?” He already knows the answer judging by the pleased smirk beginning to creep in the corner of his mouth at the sight of his shadows holding your hands in place.

You swallow thickly, annoyingly affected by his closeness and the hard bulge that throbs at your belly when he curls a hand around your neck, nose brushing your own. “I certainly don’t feel like I belong to you.”

“I can fix that.” It’s a promise. One you silently scold yourself for praying that it’s a promise he makes good on.

The Mother has favorites and tonight you must be one of them.

The kiss Azriel initiates is nothing short of brutal; the drag of his tongue across the seam of your lips his only kindness before gaining access and completely dominating from the inside out. Every touch is claiming; a strong hand calloused from centuries of skilled swordplay is generous when easing off the expensive gold bodice before the delicate fabric beneath is torn to shreds. Pretty strips of dark material spills to the floor, left for the house to clean as your thighs are gripped and your weight is hoisted up, legs cradling the muscular taper of Azriel’s waist.

He’s sucking marks into your neck, back pressed against the wall as his teeth graze at the sensitive skin there. Breasts spill from the confines of your bra, straps eased down your shoulders to make more room for his mouth to lay claim to. Azriel pinches at your nipples, eating up every sound like it’s offered on a platter. “Those noises sound like you belong to me.” Every nerve burns where he touches, marring your flesh and branding his mark as arousal collects in your underthings.

“Azriel,” You pant, trying to clear the fog of your brain but he’s all consuming; refusing to allow you air if it’s not the same one he breathes.

The flimsy underwear is pushed aside, familiar fingers collecting the slick gathering between your legs and a cruel smile grows on his face. “It certainly feels like you belong to me.” A thumb pressed firmly on the stiff bud of your clit, rubbing slow circles that has your toes curling. A thump sounds from where your head falls back to the ball, exposing the line of your neck and the dark purple bruises smattered along it. Your eyes close for a second, breath labored and mouth salivating from the promise of more but all that changes when his hands bunch up the elegant curl of your hair. He wraps it around like a leash, forcing you to look him in the eye and the rasp of his voice is devastating. “So why the fuck can’t you get it through your pretty head, huh?”

It’s a rhetorical question, that much you gather when he moulds his mouth to yours before you can even begin to muster up an answer. You’re boneless in his grasp, allowing him to take you to his room and share his sheets. The bedside table screeches when Azriel’s boot kicks at it, knocking over lamps and light bulbs shatter on the hardwood. He doesn’t even flinch, glass crunching under the soles of his shoes that he kicks off as he eases you down. “Az,” Insecurity threatens to rear her ugly head and ruin the moment, trying to push forth his hurtful words and the years of dancing around this feeling but Azriel’s already there to push that away. “Are you sure you even want to?”

“You belong to me,” He says and it’s final. Offering up the keys to the locked box filled with everything you’d dreamed about when you closed your eyes and wished on falling stars every year. Off goes his shirt and shortly his pants follow, dragging his underwear along with it and you can’t fight the moan when all of that bare skin is exposed and hovering above you. “Say it,” He urges, the hard length of him slotting between spread legs, grinding against warm need until you’re keening soft pleas into his chest, heels digging into his back.

The intrusion makes you gasp, hands greedy and mouth glued to his while he fucked into you like he always did. It’s a demanding pace; forcing you to take all of him while he watched you lose all your composure—all that beautiful fight that drew him to you in the first place. Az doesn’t stop, spurred on by strangled moans and choked words garbled together begging for more of him; harder, faster, deeper. Your clenching around him when the words stutter out of you in a whisper. “I belong to you.”

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cmncisspnandmore · 1 year ago

Text

One Night Stand; Part 6

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley X Pregnant!Reader

Warnings: Smut, Shower smut, Slight breeding kink if you squint, Simon Riley being a literal angel, basically all smut with a little bit of plot.

A/N: Hi loves, imma be real, i wrote this entire part in a day. I spent pretty much my entire afternoon writing this after i scrapped about 4 different versions. This is the best i got at the moment. Im still working on this series and requests. Just life is kinda busy. So please bear with me and enjoy the brain rot. This is also not proofread at all so RIP to any grammar police.

Word Count: 3012... This seemed longer.. sowwie, its smol.

New to the Series? Catch up here: Part 5

You sleepily make your way towards the bathroom door, hand closing over the knob as the incessant need to pee urges you forward. It was a little after 2am, you had fallen asleep rather early having spent most of the day lounging around the apartment.

Simon was on base for the day, running training exercises with Soap, Gaz and Captain Price. During the 3 months you have been living with Simon, you have come to learn his patterns. Training days meant that 9 times out of 10 he would spend the night on base. The days before a deployment he would make sure to stock the fridge and pantry with your favorites. On Sundays he did laundry, every 3rd wednesday he would get his haircut. Saturdays after returning for deployment were reserved for going out to Soap’s bar and having a well deserved drink. You also learnt his day to day routine, every morning he was home Simon rose at exactly 5:00am, went on a 12 mile run, when he returned if you weren't already awake he would prepare you a healthy breakfast and leave it out for you before heading to work.

On days when you were awake when he got back from his run he would shower, and you both would spend some time preparing breakfast together. Although those mornings instead of the nutritionally packed meals he usually prepared you often convinced him to make some sort of carb and sugar filled breakfast. Those mornings he would often leave the flat grumbling about how he should’ve run extra. Those mornings were your favorite.

Since you moved in your relationship with Simon had not progressed further than friends, sure there was still the burning desire that he ignited within you from just looking at you. And you would often linger just a little bit too long in his arms when he would give you a hug. But there hadn't been any kissing, and you haven't managed to end up naked in between his sheets. But that wasn't for lack of wanting.

As you shove open the bathroom door, you fail to realize that not only was the light on but the sound of running water was coming from the shower. As you quickly beeline for the enclosed toilet space, you don't feel a set of brown eyes watching your every move from behind the foggy glass. It isn't until you wash your hands in the sink and glance up into the large mirror on the wall that you realize you aren't alone. Through the fogged glass of the mirror you can make out Simon’s large silhouette, his tanned skin reduced to nothing more than a tan blob.

“Oh my god!” You squeak, whirling around, your chest heaving as you finally face Simon. He's mostly obscured by the fogged glass door of the walk-in shower, but his bemused smile is clear. “I didn't think you would be coming home!” You mutter out, your cheeks turning pink as he runs his hand across the glass cleaning away some of the fog. Now you can clearly see his face, although distorted by the water droplets on the glass.

“I should’ve texted you, I'm sorry.. I just didn't want to be late for the appointment in the morning..” Simon says as he reaches up, running his hand through his wet blonde hair.

“No, no! I'm sorry, I should've paid more attention. I'm such an airhead sometimes I didn't realize that there was someone in here..” you rush out as you try to desperately keep your eyes from straying from Simon's face. You aren’t sure if it's the heat from the shower or the pregnancy hormones but it takes all your willpower to keep your eyes from trailing down his toned body.

Simon pauses for a moment, his dark brown eyes trailing over you, from the adorable flush of your cheeks to the swell of your stomach under the sleep shirt you have on. “It’s alright. Love," Simon smiles. One of his panty dropping smiles that you swear he reserves for only you. It's the smile that sends shivers straight to your core. That leaves you a hot panting mess behind closed doors. Living with Simon and not jumping his bones at every opportunity was damn near torture during your second trimester. You were able to take care of things yourself, but now that your bump had grown substantially, you hadn’t been able to find relief.

Without thinking, you walk towards the shower and yank open the door, the hot steam pouring out. Little splashes of water hit your skin as you step into the small space. Your sleep shirt and shorts quickly drenched, as Simon stares at you wide eyed.

“Sweetheart…” Simon warns as your hands come to rest on his wet cheeks, your thumb catching on his bottom lip as he looks down at you, his pupils blown wide. You quickly close the space between you two, your bump pressing against the firm plains of his abs, your arms snaking around his neck as you sharply tug him down to your height. Your lips capture his in a sloppy, wet kiss. Simon groans low in his throat, his chest vibrating against your overly sensitive breasts. A new wave of need pluses through you as you try to get closer, Simon's cock jumping to life as it presses against your lower stomach. Simon's large hands land on your hips squeezing slightly as he turns you, pressing your back against the cold tile wall of the shower.

A startled gasp rushes past your lips as your back makes contact with the cold tile. A shiver running through you as your wet shirt makes it feel colder. Simon smiles against your lips, one hand coming up to graze over your pebbled nipples through the sopping wet fabric of your shirt. A breathy moan slips from you as Simon peppers kisses down the side of your jaw to your neck. The spray from the showerhead now sprays off his shoulders as he leans lower.

“Fuck.. Please,” you whine, nails scratching along the tops of his shoulders Simon wraps his lips around one of your nipples, over the fabric of your shirt. The friction from the wet fabric sends waves of pleasure through you straight to your core, your legs starting to shake with need and Simon has barely touched you.

“Such a needy girl…” Simon murmurs against your skin, as he flicks his tongue across your nipple. Your cheeks flush pink at his words but you’re hanging on to each one like they’re your life line. “Why didn't you just come to me if you needed some help baby?” Simon whispers softly, as his fingers trace the bottom of your bump, slipping beneath the fabric of your shirt as he pushes it up.

“I…I don't know,” You mumble your head tipping back against the cold shower wall.

Simon hums, his lips once again brushing across one of your nipples, pulling another moan from you. “God, your tits are amazing. It’s been hell walking around trying not to stare at them. Knowing that my child is the reason, knowing that they are growing to provide milk for our baby,” Simon whispers against your skin, and you swear you could cum just from the sounds of his voice.

“Simon… Please…” you whine, it's small and breathy, in any other circumstance you would be ashamed for sounding so weak, but right now you couldn't give two shits if the damn queen of England was standing here witnessing your plea.

“Tell me what you need baby, I don't want to hurt you..” Simon stands back to his full height, his hand coming to cup the side of your face. You force your eyes open, Simon's beautiful brown eyes staring at you. Simon is a large man, in all aspects of his life and the last thing he would ever want to do is hurt you unintentionally. Especially now, as you carry his child within you, he would rather be buried alive again than accidentally do something to hurt you or the baby.

“I need you to bend me over and fuck me senseless. I feel like I'm going to explode,” you whine, your needy hands coming to rake down his bare chest, sending a shiver through Simon's entire body.

“Whatever you need, Love,” Simon grunts before he bends down and picks you up, nudging open the shower door with his shoulder as he cradles you against his wet chest. He doesn’t stop to turn off the shower or even dry himself off as he brings you into his room. He sets you down on your feet and quickly drops to his knees in front of you. His still warm hands catching the waistband of your wet sleep shorts. He pulls them down your legs, goosebumps erupting across your skin from the sudden change in temperature.

Simon presses a series of soft kisses to the stretched skin of your stomach, his hands briefly cupping your belly/ “Hi Lovie,” he whispers softly to your bump and if you weren’t so ravishingly horny you could cry. The sight of probably one of the scariest men you know on his knees in front of you talking to his unborn child makes you want to scream in the best way. But your mind quickly goes blank as Simon's fingers trace the smooth skin of your inner thigh.

“Turn around, elbows on the bed, pet,” Simon stands again, his hands on your shoulders as he gently turns you. As if on autopilot you lean forwards, resting your elbows on the bed, giving Simon a perfect view of your ass. A deep groan hits your ears as Simon's hand comes to massage the puffy flesh of your ass. Your skin prickles with anticipation as his fingers dip lower, gathering the slick wetness from between your thighs. The breath wooshed from your lungs as he thrusts one finger into your slick cunt.

“You’re so wet for me, such a good girl aren't you?” Simon hums, lazily thrusting his finger before he adds a second. You tip your hips back, trying to make him go faster, this slow languid pace he was setting was driving you mad. You needed to be fucked, and god damn if you didn't get it right now you were going to cry.

“Si…” you whine, pushing your hips back into his hand as he curls his fingers within you.

“Hmm?”

“I’m pregnant, not made of fucking glass. I swear if you don't fu-” Your voice cuts off as Simon slams into you in one quick thrust. Your world spins for a moment and if you hadn't been holding onto the bed for support you would’ve fallen over. A startled gasp passes your lips and Simon all but freezes. “No please don't stop, it just feels different but not in a bad way…” You quickly mumble reaching back haphazardly with one hand to try and grab Simon's hip to force him to move.

“You sure?” Simon mumbles, his hands coming to rest on your hips, as he slowly pulls out before sinking back in.

“Oh god, yes, please,” you moan, your face now pressed into the mattress. That was all it took for Simon to continue, his hips thrust into you at a rapid pace, obscene moans leaving your lips as he slams home each time. Sex felt different this time, there was no slight burn from how big Simon was but you felt full, so deliciously full. You had been worried about having sex at any point during your pregnancy, having read that some women have no sex drive during pregnancy, especially the 3rd trimester. But thank the lord above it was not the case for you. Your thoughts turn to nothing as Simon lets out a harsh moan, your walls fluttering around him.

“Fuck baby, you’re squeezing me so tight,” Simon grunts as he adjusts his grip on your hip bones,his fingertips digging into your skin.

“Feels so good Simon.. I'm gonna cum..” You whimper as the familiar coil in your stomach tightens, teetering on the edge of release as he pounds into you. Your skin slapping against each other so loud you're sure the neighbors know what's going on.

“Cum for me baby,” Simon leans forward, one hand wrapping around your shoulder as he pulls you up slightly, your elbows no longer resting on the bed as he pulls you up against his chest. His hips still pistoning into you as he uses the new position to fuck into your harder. You reach up and grab the back of his neck with your hand, anchoring yourself to him, your other hand coming to find the hand still on your waistline. You guide his hand up to your throat where he gives it a gentle squeeze.

That small squeeze was all you needed to go tumbling over the edge into oblivion. Stars dance in front of your vision as the world goes quiet for a moment. Simon finds his own release moments after yours, his entire body tensing behind you. As you turn to putty in his arms, “Woah, I’ve got you,” Simon whispers into your sweaty hairline as his arms carefully wrap around you and he manages to slip out of you and hold you up.

“Sorry,” you mumble, fully sated as you lean against his chest. You can feel his heart hammering against your back, one arm firmly around you, right under your breasts the other resting lightly on your bump. His fingers softly rubbing along your soft skin.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Simon grunts, maneuvering you to the edge of the bed where he helps lower you into it.

“I just basically jumped you in the shower… “ you mutter, your eyes heavy as exhaustion hits you like a freight train hitting a brick wall.

Simon pauses as he gathers your wet pj’s from the floor and shoves them into his laundry basket. “You think I would be upset by you jumping me in the shower?” He asks, a small smile on his face.

You lift your head, watching as he shoves the clothes into the basket and grabs a black long sleeve shirt from the closet. He walks over, standing in front of you still in all his naked glory, the shirt in his hands. “Well.. I mean.. we haven’t exactly expressed wanting more than friendship..”

“Love, I’ve been taking it slow because I thought you only wanted to be friends… not because I wanted to. God, watching you walk around the apartment, your stomach growing with my child drives me insane, I’ve wanted to bend you over the kitchen counter and fuck you sensless every morning since the first day you got here.” Simon pulls the shirt over your head, and you put your arms through, the shirt still fits loosely even over your baby bump.

“Oh…” you freeze for a moment, you and Simon had gotten closer over the time you’ve lived with him. You had learnt about his past, about his mother and brother. About his nephew. You held him when he cried one night, his words a broken mess of how he was afraid he would turn out to be his dad. How he wished he could talk to his brother one last time, so he could ask him how he got past the fear of turning into his dad. How he handled the fear of being a dad when he had Joseph.

But the entire time you had lived together Simon had always treated you with respect, he never touched your stomach without asking. He always made sure to keep a respectable distance from you when you were on the couch. He never entered your room without permission and never asked about your life before coming to London.

But it wasn’t to say you didn’t share things with Simon, he knew your favorite color, your worst fear (unrelated to your family’s passing) , your greatest wish, he knew what you used to dream about being as a little kid. He knew that your favorite food could make you smile on your worst days, and that you liked to watch old sitcoms when it rained. If someone was to look into your conversations they would probably think you were already together. That you probably didn’t flaunt the physical aspects of your relationship. Simon had quickly broken down the walls you had put up around yourself, and had comfortably made his own spot in your heart.

Simon sits next to you, now dressed in a pair of black sweatpants, his large hand covering yours. You slowly look up at him, his brow furrowed as he studies your face. The small scar in his eyebrow evident this close, you reach out running a finger across it. The skin is slightly raised and water drips from his hair onto your finger.

“Then you should stop fighting the urge…” you finally whisper, your hand cupping the rough skin of Simon’s face.

“Would you be okay with that? With me touching you whenever I wanted… holding you.. kissing you?” Simon whispers, his eyes closing for a moment as he leans into your hand.

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, your forehead coming to rest against his, your eyes closed. For a moment you just sit there. Your foreheads pressed together, your breath mingling.

Could you be okay with that?

Could you let someone in that way?

Let someone get close enough that they could see all the broken and jagged edges of you?

Could you open yourself up to losing someone again?

The thought of Simon being gone suddenly, ripped away from you by some unknown, the same person who ripped your siblings and mother away from you makes you want to vomit.

But a small part of you chimes in, the part that knows Simon isn’t defenseless like your family was. Simon was a trained military man, a man who single handedly killed an entire crew for crossing him. He could handle himself. He had proved that time and time again in the field. He also had the rest of 141, the team who would go to the ends of the earth to find him.

You open your eyes, and look at Simon, the answer on the tip of your tongue as you stare at his beautiful face. His light blonde stubble, the small scars, the crook in his nose, the slightly uneven line of his lower lip. “Yes… I-I want that.. I want all of it.”

Next Part: 7

Taglist: @coffeeandtealol, @natashamea18

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fantaatix · 23 days ago

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"i have no home now"

i remember a while back when this episode was still being highly anticipated people were debating whether or not stolas would be stripped of his title and powers, maybe even hired by blitz, and why that might be a bad thing

i'll just rip this straight from the post i found in my likes:

"Saying that Stolas needs to abdicate so their relationship can be healthy implies that a commoner really CAN'T be with royalty"

the thing is that i don't think that's necessarily what the show is trying to imply. i'll give them some credit, they posted this in august, i forget when exactly apology tour came out but i think there was a general acceptance that they'd be back together by the end of the season

i don't think that's the case either and here's why;

i think one of the overarching themes of this season is how blitz simultaneously ruins and saves people--whether or not these are his intentions varies from person to person

for example, those he believes he's ruined are his sister, fizz, his mom, and verosika

verosika is an outlier because of the fact that a) the three prior were close enough to be considered family, b) the three prior can all be pinned down to the same event, and c) i feel like he definitely meant to at least piss her off, as a means to push her away

you don't "steal their car, run three rings to wrath and max my credit on shitty horse-riding lessons" because you think it'll brighten someone's day

those he's ruined mostly want nothing to do with him, or keep themselves at a distance; barbie wants nothing to do with him, verosika hates his guts (used to, rather), and while they definitely care about each still, his friendship with fizz is not what it used to be

but now, with IMP, he seems to be on a trend of making a life for himself and giving others a new chance

these images are always paired together as like, "before and after" and i'm sure it's been mentioned dozens of times, but again--there is an outlier, and i think in this case it's moxxie

with millie and loona blitz identifies their struggles himself

with loona, he sees how rough she acts on the outside but sees the soft interior and recognises himself--he wants to give her a real chance at a life, free of judgement

with millie, it's essentially the same deal, except millie straight up tells him about her struggle to make a living and he offers her a job

but with moxxie, there is no "identification", at least not to the specifics. he's in jail, moxxie's in jail, things suck regardless. if anything, maybe blitz figured that being incarcerated was "the struggle", which is probably fair; i don't think you're gonna get "my dad is a sociopath, my mom left/died and my boyfriend left me for dead" first try

moxxie was not special to him in this moment; blitz didn't recognise some divine struggle or empathic connection, they've known each other for 30 seconds and know literally nothing about each other. blitz is looking to break out and see his daughter, that is his goal here. the question was not, "what is this guy's struggle?" the question was "can this guy work a gun?" and the answer may or may not have been yes

and you can tell, like...just by the way blitz looks at him after. it is so possible that he just planned to ditch him after they both got out but ended up not doing so for whatever reason. like, "oh wow, that definitely meant more to him than it meant to me"

that seems to be the case with all of the people he's helped in one way or another; he can't even see that he helps. it's confirmation bias, all he sees is the bad. he needs people to reel him back into reality, people like millie or fizz or maybe possibly stolas later on cough cough

but now back to the point i'm trying to make (and what brought this post to life);

first off, the face blitz makes once he is confronted with the idea that people would actually miss him if he was gone:

and secondly, these two lines:

blitz: you need a ride home

stolas: i...have no home now. everything i have is gone.

this is stolas at his most vulnerable. he has no powers, no home, his daughter is in custody of his Bitch Wife, and he has no lover.

you could argue a few of those things in western energy but in this moment he has absolutely nothing to fall back on, he is alone.

and then blitz invites him to stay with him because that's what he does, he helps people at their most vulnerable moments. he gives them a home.

that is the point here--this isn't about their relationship right now, this about blitz having an irresistible urge to protect people he cares about and acting on it, because like it or not that's his job for the time being. he's not a bodyguard but he'll be playing that role until he dies or stolas gets his powers back.

he can finally actually protect stolas now, maybe even feel fulfillment in doing so, not having to fall back on things like "i didn't think you could get hurt" and seemingly forgetting to mention the fact that "oh yeah someone's plotting to kill you you should maybe look into that"

this is where they learn trust in each other. trust and devotion.

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cloveroctobers · 3 months ago

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SWEET DREAMS — Terry Richmond [October Prompts] 🧡

A/N: It’s really making me happy that I have someone new to write about! And now I get to do that some more during my favorite season? You know I had to! Thanks for all the previous love on my first work about this stunning lion looking man! Hope to do more for the next season too 🤩

WARNINGS: Get your sage & holy water ready! This fic includes — Fluff, grief, and Mike is alive! Most likely language, written with a black woman in mind, & this ended up much longer than I intended! Basically…fuck around and find out?

SYNOPSIS: Life is short, shorter than you can imagine but sleep can feel like a eternity.

Firstly this is inspired by the haunting of hill house just a little + PROMPTS can be found here & I’m using: 25. “Well, it is a seance.” / “Good thing the person I want to see is already here.” + 28. Playing with an Ouija board.

<- read my previous spooky anthology prompt here.

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ 𓉸ྀི ๋࣭ ⭑⚝ 𓉸ྀི ๋࣭ ⭑⚝ 𓉸ྀི ๋࣭ ⭑⚝ 𓉸ྀི ๋࣭ ⭑⚝ 𓉸ྀི ๋࣭

Terry remembers her roller set digging into his collarbone as they lounged on their couch together one (always) warm autumn afternoon. She often complained about wash days but each one was different when it came to how she wanted to style it for the next two to three weeks. He helped her roll and clip the back of her head once she started to whine that her arms were about to fall off. He may have worked her too hard in the gym two days ago but regardless, dealing with a crown like this would always be a task, so he didn’t mind taking on some of the weight.

He made sure to kiss her temple once she stated that she can handle the rest, while he left her to get started on dinner. It was always a rule between the two to have dinner at the table, since they hardly got the chance to experience that in their own upbringings. Majority of the time, this rule was followed but that day she struggled to keep her head upright as she shuffled around the waterfront raised french provincial home.

Terry was pretty commanding and even guided her to the table once everything was ready, although she wanted to throw a tantrum, a tender kiss to her lips snapped her out of it as they sat across from each other to have dinner. Once that was over? He had no issue lounging on the couch for a while; her nodding off with the aroma of rosemary being prominent from her roots.

“We should be fall shopping since scary movies aren’t really our thing.” She croaked, through slits in her eyes, as some football game was playing on the flatscreen.

Terry snorts, “I told you I was down for: it’s the great pumpkin, Charlie Brown.”

“What are we, five?” She sassed.

Terry leaned away to peek down at his girl, “Huh? You’re more of the scary one out of the relationship than I am.”

“…SO?” She huffed, followed by a yawn that ripped through her lips.

Terry chuckled, “yeah you must be real tired because that comeback was not challenging enough.”

She hums, tightening her crossed arms as she closes her eyes once more. Terry loops an arm across her chest, leaning the elbow of his other arm along the arm of the couch while pressing his knuckles against his mouth, eyes focused on the game now while he let her get her nap on. He already knew the deal, that he wouldn’t let her sleep too long since she had to go into her regular shift down at the library the next morning.

She’s been taking up extra hours, (since the mortgage rates continued to go up rather than down around here) even went in on her day off for four hours before she came back home to get started on her hair. So he’d wake her up so this nap didn’t disrupt her night routine in the next thirty to forty-five minutes.

Terry, always the active one and grew tired of the game—since he wasn’t rooting for a particular team anyway—left her with a honey colored Sherpa blanket to finish out her slumber and ventured outside underneath the house, through the carport to his workshop to see what he can get into. He had his timer set on the Apple Watch she got him last Christmas, although he was used to just tracking time on his regular wrist watch, he appreciated the gift.

She came and found him before time was up, arms sneaking around his waist while Terry’s humming along to Luther Vandross’, “Don’t you know that?”

He was too in his zone, fixing up Mike’s bike and jamming to old classics that he didn’t even hear her come in, which he should scold himself for but with the way she held onto him so lovingly, nuzzling her cheek against his back, made him put that on hold for now.

“Having a good time without me, Grandpa?” She teases while Terry turns to face her.

He runs a thumb over her cheek as she smiles up at him, “Never. You’re just who I was waiting for, grandmomma. All you’re missing is the moo-moo.” He jokes back, using his other hand to flick one of her rollers which she tries to smack his hand away to not mess with.

Soon that hand is up and intertwining with her’s as Terry leads them into a sway to the beat. She’s well enough rested as she grins up at him with a slight shake of her head, knowing Terry’s in a good mood now that he has her out here slow-dancing in this muggy workshop.

“Who knew that your simba looking self would be a big softie?” She tells him as he leans towards his woman.

He keeps his intense eye contact locked only on her and stops humming to reply, “You secretly love it.”

“I do…and you too, I guess.” She jests with a whisper, also inching forward so their lips can meet once more.

There’s a red light behind Terry’s eyelids before he decides to open them. He rolls onto his back, staring up at the ceiling for a while and picking up on the chirping of birds, buzzing of bugs, and the possible motor of a neighbors’ nearby boat in the water. His senses were always heightened. It’s late, he knows it but he doesn’t move as the door to the back patio across from the bed is pushed open.

There she is, surrounded by the orange sunlight that fights against the fog. It’s almost too bright that he can’t make out her facial features, when he knows he usually can with his eyes closed.

“Good, you’re up.” She says closing the door behind her but the opacity still blocks out her features yet not her hair, “I thought you were going to sleep all day.”

He wants to move but finds his body stiff and unmoving. There’s a furrow of his thick brows as they start to search the brightness of the room, which is a contrast of what it’s been like for months. Terry flicks his eyes downwards, trying to move his fingers but they stay put.

He feels the dip of the bed and the clinking of a utensil against a teacup that looks an awful lot like his mother’s. She takes a sip and sighs while she then says to Terry, “This feels familiar doesn’t it?”

Terry swallows, his throat feels extremely dry and as if a lump has formed there. He wants to cough but makes no motion to do so. He keeps blinking, hoping that he can figure out what’s going on but part of him feels like he should already know.

“Don’t worry, honey. Just be thankful that you got the prettier version of me to haunt you, instead of whatever I was forced to see when I got like this.” She informs Terry, leaning over to finally show him what he remembered her to be.

The softness of her eyes, the way she sounded, the way her tongue pressed behind her front teeth when she smiled along with the way she smelled.

“I just hope you keep having sweet dreams and not what the night brings.” The last of her words echo off his ears before Terry is able to sit up with a sharp gasp of air.

His hand goes to his throat, massaging the space and clearing it as his wide eyes look around the room for her but she’s no longer here. He feels the beads of sweat appearing on the back of his neck, and the vibrating of his phone already tells him that it’s one of three people that’s probably calling him. Terry reaches over to take a peek, declining the call and sending a text that he would catch up with them later, then drags himself into the bathroom to get ready for another long day.

The obnoxious ringing of his doorbell, makes Terry stride quickly to the door to reveal his cousin, Mike along with their old friend, Summer McBride. She’s got her hands full while Mike straightens up from his position of getting ready to send a horse kick to Terry’s front door.

“I’m convinced you lost your mind.” Terry says to his family member, who just grins at him, “And I know auntie Josie taught you some manners, help Summer out, man.”

Mike scoffs while Summer sends him a knowing look with her doe eyes, “She almost chopped my hand off when I tried to take the bag from her, fam. So I did try.”

Terry steps aside to wave the pair in before saying to the short haired woman, “I told you that every time you visit, you don’t have to bring anything.”

“The only good thing my family taught me,” Summer speaks over her shoulder as she makes her way through the foyer, “was to never show up empty handed and this is nothin’.”

Terry and Mike unfortunately got to meet her (racist) family down at the usual court dates Summer had to attend. Every time they turned around her ex husband was having her down there and although Terry attended more so than Mike—not that it mattered—he had his own trauma of not wanting to be in any more courtrooms, they all showed up for one another in various of ways.

“Tell that to my still stinging hand.” Mike comments while the blonde sets her things down onto the wooden dining table.

He heads into the kitchen while Terry exhaled before moving around his own home as well.

“Oh, you complain more than my own kid!” Summer sassed while Terry gives a small smile at their bickering.

He finds himself tuning them out as he checks on the sides again before turning the stove off. When he turns back around he sees Mike rubbing his hands together in excitement, “what’s on the menu, cuz? You never answered the texts?”

Terry inhales as he glanced over his shoulder at the various pots and pans, “Nothing too crazy, thick cut pork chops with three options since I’m not sure what Summer prefers: hot sauce, applesauce, or smothered in gravy and onions.”

Mike scoffs, “well aren’t you a kind hearted son of a bitch. How come I don’t get options when we have dinner together on Thursday’s?”

“You’re just a picky eater and don’t nobody got time for that.”

Mike sucks his teeth, “you did all that extra work and watch Summer like her shit borin’ and plain.” He turns back to the blonde who stands by the side of the island counter, awaiting her answer with his brown eyes.

Summer sheepishly smiles, “I actually brought a mini hot sauce in my bag if it wasn’t an option.”

“See,” Terry laughs at Mike’s shocked face, “we got to know our friend by now, she ain’t regular.”

Summer questions, “Thank you?”

“Yeah it’s a compliment, Goldilocks. Now tell us what you did bring because if it’s coleslaw with raisins? I’m taking my plate to go.” Mike informs while Terry pinches the bridge of his nose followed by a chuckle, before moving around the kitchen to start grabbing plates.

Summer frowns, “do I look like a coleslaw kinda woman, Michael? And lucky for you, I can’t cook so I just bought over some fall inspired things that we can all try later.”

Mike pretends to gag, “this lady tryna to kill us with that pumpkin shit.”

“Mike, clear the table for me man, so we can have a clean space to serve ourselves.” Terry encourages while Summer just folds her arms and sticks her nose up at Mike’s actions before circling around to look at the prepared food until it was time to bring everything over.

Dinner was never awkward by any means. This wss a routine that they picked back up, having Sunday dinner or if they couldn’t make it or if Terry wasn’t feeling up for it they would come over for leftovers on Monday. Since Summer moved closer to where Terry and Mike resided in Lullin it was easier for her to stop on by. On Thursday’s Terry and Mike would mostly spend time at Mr. Liu’s for dinner. Although they had a business together where they saw each other every day, it was always important to continue their bond outside of work with food.

That’s been instilled in them since they were children, meeting up at Terry’s grandmother’s house and Mike’s grandfather—Terry’s great uncle—would always come by with Mike underneath his arm. That’s what started their bond thanks to their grandparent’s tight sibling relationship.

Sometimes Terry would even put on (grandpa, as she would like to call it) music while they carried on a conversation, it would mostly be Mike and Summer debating over something while Terry intently listened. If you didn’t know him, you would probably think he’s blocking them out but he could repeat back everything that was said. Since Mike was the only drinker and the pumpkin beer was mainly for him, he deemed it as not bad, shocking Summer who mocked him into giving her some credit and he even asked if he could take the remaining three pack home with him.

This was all after they stepped in to clean up the kitchen, Summer was on dish duty, Terry was putting everything into containers and making to-go boxes for the two, while Mike sipped and wiped down the counters and placed the decorations back on the dining table like how she used to have it.

Soon they were all seated on the couch, binging some ridiculous show Summer put them all onto before Mike pointed out that Summer never showed them what was in her large reusable bag that she brought with her. The blonde peeks at the time on her spot on the two seat sofa and sighed, “I guess now is a good enough time as any.”

Mike’s eyes are already low lidded as he’s lounging on the couch and looks over at Terry who simply shrugs at him.

“I’ve been thinkin’…Terry hasn’t been getting the best sleep lately, rightfully so and I thought maybe there was a way to get rid of that weight in your heart.” Summer speaks as she brings the bag over to the living room.

Terry blinks but there’s confusion in his light eyes, “I’m fine.”

“No you’re not!” Summer argues, “Sure you’re going to those therapy sessions but I know a sleep deprived person when I see one, believe me.”

Mike mumbles before taking a final swing from the bottle, “Blondie ain’t wrong, cuz. Normally you’re on your game and you always push through—don’t get me wrong—but I caught you sleeping in the office lately and that ain’t like you.”

Terry looks back and forth between the two but still speaks calmly, “so…this was your plan this dinner? To plot on me and have some sort of intervention?”

Mike shakes his head, “I don’t know what summa summa summa time brought with her, I don’t play no parts in that. I just know the anniversary of losing her is coming up and we just want to make sure you’re good, is all.”

There’s this slight ache that wants to punch through the numbness in his chest but when Terry sits up, burying his elbows into his knees, he’s able to make it subside some.

“…Because we care and we show up for one another.” Summer added, “and you started telling me about one of your dreams before in pieces but they were still so vivid. So I thought maybe she’s trying to tell you something.”

Both sets of eyes flicked to Summer as she turned to the bag that sat next to her on the sofa, her hands digging through the bag to pull out a board.

“…I know she fucking lying.”

There in her lap sat an Ouija board.

Terry drops his head while Summer blows out a breath and tries to plead her case.

“Before you all go houndin’ me about doing white shit, I just want you both to know that this was very effective for me. I got the chance to speak with my pawpaw—

“Oh yeah sure, Paw-Paw!” Mike does air quotes while Summer waits for him to be done.

“…He’s the only stable adult I had in my life and talkin’ to him through here instead of at a gravesite did me a helluva lot good. I just thought it could help you too.” Summer speaks, making Terry lift his head to meet her eyes.

Terry and Mike have known Summer for a while and she’s always been genuine. Maybe this did help her grieve her grandfather, Terry always gave people the benefit of the doubt and the chance to show their character or right their wrongs. He didn’t think Summer would purposely steer him wrong yet he’s seen some things going through training and being a marine.

He didn’t break then.

He still didn’t break when he lost her.

He couldn’t.

“You got me?” Terry finally finds himself asking Summer after a brief silence, who holds his stare before slowly dipping her head.

Summer affirms because Terry was keen on words, “I do.”

Mike wasn’t having it so Terry and Summer moved to the office that used to belong to her. Summer sets the board on the built in desk once they pass through the double doors. Terry grabs a chair from the main desk that’s in the center of the room for Summer and grabs the second from another but much smaller built in computer desk off to the side by the windows for himself.

“You’re going to have to walk me through this since this isn’t my expertise. I normally don’t mess with spirits and if this ever gets out to my grandmother—

“It’ll be our little secret and Mike’s.” Summer squeezes his shoulder before motioning for him to sit and then drags her bag in between the chairs, “it’s simple work really. We light a candle, you have something that was special to her, and we call upon the spirit realm to reach her. Then she’ll talk to us through the board.”

Terry’s expression held skepticism but Summer double checked if he wanted to go through with this. He said he would after pausing, feeling a draft at the back of his neck. He been cut the air off on the first day of autumn and was more of a let the fresh air in while she once preferred the automatic timer for the AC.

Since the evening was here already, Summer didn’t have to make the office dark. She closed the double doors per Mike’s request and lit the candle.

Playing with an ouija board was not on Terry Richmond’s bucketlist.

Ever.

“So—

Summer starts but Terry is glancing around him, “Did it just get cold in here or is it just me?”

The blonde also peers around herself and around Terry towards the wall on his right that shielded the other closed door that led to the loop of the rest of the home.

“Well, it is a seance.” Summer tried to ease her friend’s worries with a crooked smile while Terry just blankly stared at her from underneath his lashes.

“Not yet,” he mutters and fiddles with a trinket that belonged to the late love of his life.

A third time Summer asked if he’s ready before asking the second most important question, “What did you bring?”

Terry’s whole hand was wrapped around one of the many trinkets she once collected. It started in twenty-twenty when lockdown happened. The depression was hitting and she needed something that brought her out of it, she couldn’t safely continue doing piano lessons like she wanted once the library had to shut down for a while. This was her side hobby turned hustle, being musically gifted with the piano and composing.

Most of her sheet work was safely in one of these drawers.

It was really something to watch her get in her zone. Eyes closed and dainty fingers just barely touching the keys but the music always flowed and captivated. Terry was more into the physical connection with his body whereas the mental was more on her. With lockdown, Terry still knew how to manage and pushed himself even harder with keeping his body right, whereas she fell into a reading slump for awhile and started to play off key on the keys (which she hardly ever missed) along with her sleeping habits becoming problematic.

She’s always loved little trinkets, while she joked calling Terry a grandpa because of his music choices, he also joked that she was grandpa’s baby. The obsession with Calico critters actually brought her out of depression some and although she would wait weeks on weeks for the packages to arrive on their doorstep thanks to shipping delays, he never forgot learning how important these were to her.

And how by placing one, specifically from the new collection at the time, the hedgehog family, Maxwell the son and brother was placed right on her keyboard that used to rest on the main desk behind Terry and Summer. Apparently he was the pianist out of the family and was that little source of encouragement that watched her play. Sure it was kiddish by first glance but many don’t realize they have to heal their inner child to live. So you can look back at whatever you dealt with as a child and make them see, as you grow into your adulthood that this was all worth it.

Terry had no problem listening to her view on her latest obsession once the teasing was out of the way. He even tried not to be a little jealous that this toy got to give her some joy back and find her passion for piano again. He was stuck listening to her gift from around the corner instead of taking one of the chairs and sitting it in backwards in the same room to listen like he used to do. She had plenty of trinkets all over the house here and there or in plenty of storage boxes she got from tag sales. Yes they were toys but people aren’t just people, they have stories.

They talked about children before and Terry even speculated that she maybe keeping a certain secret from him (she wasn’t) once the overload of figurines started to take over but Terry wanted to be married first. Plenty already had a lot to say since they lived together, bought a house together without being married but what worked for them didn’t have to work for everyone else. She was a product of divorce because of infidelity, Terry was a product of a single hard working mom who raised and provided for him mostly whenever his grandmother didn’t step in to help.

She and Terry agreed that their marriage had to be the best example of love, they didn’t have to try very hard but they wanted the way they loved to be what their kid should expect. That love can kind, patient, fun, overwhelming, have unity, it should feel and show all the good things but also something that can be built and shaped within that unity when it got tough. They didn’t want to repeat a cycle or screw their future kid up but Terry had to remind her that there’s no perfect parent. No perfect love story but it could be perfect enough just for them two. Sometimes she had her head way up in the clouds, she was the dreamer and sometimes he had to reel her—not down but beside him again. To see that dreams are beautiful yet sometimes reality can be a nightmare and not on purpose.

They could always handle it together and not particularly with only one taking the lead.

This hedgehog full of hair as big as her’s, whenever the shrinkage stopped playing around! symbolized a lot. The rest of Maxwell’s family was around here somewhere and this is why Terry chose this one specifically to bring out because trinkets maybe of little value as a standalone but once you get them into your hands they become so much more.

Terry wished he had infinite time with her.

He’s been so lost in his grieving that he missed out on the candle blowing out on its own. The scent of the blown out wax hits his nostrils and he loosens his grip on the critter as he sits up now.

“Terry? You alright?” Summer questions, although her doe eyes are searching around the office.

He hums, not sure how to answer that as he just got hit with multiple memories.

He missed her so much.

The candle lights itself again and Summer meets Terry’s eyes, her hands clasped right in her lap, indicating that she did not do this as the lighter was placed back on the desk and away from the ouija board.

“…are you here with us?” Summer says her name first, while deciding to be the one who asks.

Terry feels himself holding his breath, his chest feels tight as Summer reaches out for the critter to place above the ouija board. She raises her fingers to Terry, who lightly shakes his head, leaving her to do the honors of placing them on the planchette.

Within seconds, Summer’s hands are moving over to: YES.

That makes Terry rub at his goatee, feeling his heart race. He peeks at Summer who already has her eyes on him, “you’re not playing a prank on me are you?”

“I swear I’m not. This is the real deal and if you want proof? Ask her something and I’ll keep my hands off this time.” Summer encourages while Terry starts to bounce his knee.

He thinks about what he should say, anything that he asks and if the planchette moves on its own without Summer’s hands, he just might lose his shit.

“Were you alone when you passed?” Terry struggles to get the words out and Summer squeezes his shoulder, knowing what he’s getting at.

He was on the phone with her just an hour before she died. Terry wasn’t the biggest fan of her driving alone at night but she was dedicated to her job and drove out an hour and forty-five minutes to fight another round to keep the library afloat. If Terry and Mike weren’t swamped with their own business that weekend, he would have taken the drive with her. It went much longer than she expected and Terry encouraged her to just stay at a hotel for the night and take the drive back home in the morning.

There was nothing out of the ordinary on the call, the insomnia started to kick back in again for her recently—which is why she wanted to get the drive over with—and Terry claimed it as stress but she always vouched that it was something else.

Someone else.

He would wake up in the middle night, hearing sharp breaths and when he would roll over to see her face…He knew something was wrong. There were warm tears gliding down her cheeks and majority of the time she would be frozen in fear or fingers scrunched up as she balled up the sheets. They made appointments and medically they couldn’t find anything wrong but of course some sleeping pills were encouraged that she didn’t want to take.

All she kept saying was the figure that lingered in the dark it had a top hat, a hole in its chest, and the blood that dripped from its fingertips always flicked towards her, almost as if it was conducting a symphony, as it came close to the bed before she snapped right out of the paralysis.

The planchette shifts on its own over to: NO.

Terry scoffs out a breath, head wanting to drop as his suspicions came to light. The investigators concluded the crash as an accident but Terry always felt like it was more. They claimed she either fell asleep at the wheel or fell into cardiac arrest first and that’s what led to the collision with the tree but cars just don’t randomly end up on top of trees. Swerving to avoid something else on road was certain but not at this type of impact.

This confirmed it.

Before he can ask more the planchette is moving again to spell out: I-T-S-H-E-R-E-T-O-O.

“Terry?” Summer whispers, picking up on the sound of a piano but Terry relocated her keyboard from the office down to the workshop some time ago, “this didn’t happen with the seance I did for my paw…”

He doesn’t hear the symphony Summer was hearing but he gets a whiff of a smell he’s familiar and loved being intoxicated with. He looks up from his lap and peered over his shoulder, to see her sitting in a rust colored dress on top of the desk with her back to them, “Good thing the person I want to see is already here.”

Good on his part but bad for Summer as she starts to pant at the dark silhouette by the window.

She speaks to Terry, “I told you the sweet dreams don’t happen at night, didn’t i? Now look at what Ms. Summer’s about to see.”

He swallows, locked in only on her because of how radiant she appears as Summer gets to her feet, chair falling behind her while she whips around to let out a scream, which she struggles to cover once she gets sight of what only she and her can see but not Terry.

Taking his eyes off her for a second, Terry gets to his feet as well, reaching out for Summer but her blue-green eyes begin to change to a cloudy milk color as she holds onto her chest, fighting for her breath.

“The fuck is happening?!” Terry yells as he grabs onto Summer’s arms.

The voice that used to be so sweet and loving changes as she floats over to him quickly that if he had been watching he was sure he would have had whiplash, a gush of cold waves over Terry’s frame, almost bringing him to his knees but of course he fights against it, “he’s winning, you welcomed him in.”

There’s a knocking and wiggling of the knobs at the double doors and it sounds like Mike but Terry only feels his body shuddering as Summer slumps over to the side. He catches her before she can hit the ground. Terry still holds onto his friend as they both are lowered to the ground for different actions being done to their bodies. Terry still isn’t able to see what is taking control over Summer but he feels the frigidness of her hands while he tries his best to keep his friend up right.

She’s holding onto his face now, caressing it as her smile is wicked opposed to pleasant. “You can grieve now,” she tells him in a voice that no longer belongs to her.

That’s when the burning happens and Terry is yelling out in pain, using one hand to squeeze at his chest. He’s palming at his shirt, attempting to peel it off but raises it to see her name being carved into his pec.

He’s down on his knees, one arm holding onto a comatose Summer, chest burning and aching with the touch of her. A caress to his cheek allows a tear to spill from both corners of his eye.

A wink, a smile, and the humming of an old classic tune is all that is left but Terry still finds himself reaching out for her, doubling over as she steps back. A hand goes to her chest, patting just where her name is on his own before fading away from his view.

The shuffling of the board can be heard but Terry can’t move from his position as the double doors are yanked back by Mike who runs into the office to his aide.

The ouija board reads: S-W-E-E-T-D-R-E-A-M-S

Once it stops at the last letter, a sweaty Terry feels his eyes close followed by a cold yet gentle kiss upon his cheek.

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ 𓉸ྀི ๋࣭ ⭑⚝ 𓉸ྀི ๋࣭ ⭑⚝ 𓉸ྀི ๋࣭ ⭑⚝ 𓉸ྀི ๋࣭ ⭑⚝ 𓉸ྀི ๋࣭

Continue with my October anthology prompts here.

#queued #terry richmond #Terry Richmond x reader #rebel ridge #aaron pierre #aaron pierre x reader #October prompts #spooky prompts #Spotify

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55sturn · 10 months ago

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✮ COVERED IN YOU

pairing: matt sturniolo x fem!reader

synopsis: in which history has a tendency to repeat itself for matt and y/n, and this time y/n’s had enough of the back and forth because despite fighting it for years, she’s in love with matt, but does he love her back?

warnings: swearing, matt is the epitome of avoidant attachment, no established relationship, ex situationship to enemies to something complicated, making out, suggestive, alcohol consumption, angry!matt, mentions of sex.

THIRD PERSON POV

to anyone that dared to ask, most people would imply, rather than flat out explain, that matt and y/n hated one another for good reason. no one would ever divulge into full detail what the good reason was.

most believed it was feelings that were never dealt with, or lingering resentment from a fight that was never acknowledged. a lot of people had their theories, a plethora of them even. but no one but matt, y/n, and matt’s brothers knew the real cause.

when matt and y/n were in their senior year of high school, the year it happened, the two were close. like undeniably and i breakable bond close. they were attached at the hip. but one night things changed when the two of them shared a kiss at some party that eventually led to a much more intimate moment, it being their first of that kind.

from then on, they grew closer romantically. they went on dates, they kissed, held hands, spent hours talking to each other. all for matt to call it off in the middle of them laying in the yard watching the stars.

y/n was confused, to say the least, because she was so sure matt was going to ask her to be his girlfriend after nearly a year of them being whatever they had been. they had already said their “i love you’s”, matt just didn’t think a label was necessary so she waited.

“i just don’t see this going any further than what it is right now.” matt sighs, his gaze flickering from the stars above to the girl beside him, he felt guilty lying to her because in all honesty, she was the center of his universe. but he and his brothers had finally agreed to move to los angeles the second graduation finished, and he wasn’t going to put her though the pain of a long distance relationship.

“that doesn’t make any sense matt, you told me you loved me.” the girl whimpers, tears welling along her waterline.

“i figured that’s what you wanted me to say.” he hums, his voice void of all emotion as he stares ahead, trying not to give into the voice in the back of his mind telling, screaming at him, to take it all back, to tell her the truth.

“so you don’t actually love me?”

“not in the way you want me to.”

“fuck you matt, i gave myself to you, and this is what you do?”

“i’m sorry.”

“at least look at me while you rip my heart out.”

and from that night onward, the two haven’t shared much more than two words. after the triplets moved to los angeles, they lost contact with the girl for a while but nick refused to let up and soon brought her back into their lives after he found out that she had moved to a deeper part of los angeles for the social marketing courses she was studying.

matt, at first, despised nick for bringing her back into his life. he felt like he had finally gotten rid of every touch she left in his life, like he had finally taken a breath that wasn’t full of her for the first time in his life. just for her to resurface.

they had been so consumed by their feelings, which y/n felt was the worst part of it all. she believed love was never meant to be all consuming. and her love for matt, consumed every part of her and when he accepted that love without giving it back, it spit out someone she didn't want to know.

but she learned to love the version of herself that didn't know matt, that didn't want to know matt. but here she was, unfortunately thrusted back into his life and being forced to be someone that knows him again.

the two found endlessly for the first little while, constantly bickering over things that held no genuinely purpose to them, they fought for the sake of fighting. of hearing each other's voices. but when matt found y/n standing on their front step, drenched from the rain and biting back tears, his heart clenched and he softened up around the edges, letting the very clearly distraught girl into his house without hesitation.

he soon learned that the guy she was seeing had only used her as a rung on his ladder in his social climb due to her relationship with the triplets, and on top of that, the internship that she worked hard for that she had landed at one of the top social media networks, had fired her without so many as a good reason.

that night, they rekindled their friendship. they began to lean on each other again, finding solace in each other’s arms. but y/n was apprehensive of getting close again, she couldn’t go through being heartbroken by him again. but he reassured her that he was there and he wasn’t leaving again.

PRESENT TIME

y/n laughed as her and the triplets made their way down the busted sidewalk that led toward nate’s house, the four them of had flown back to boston for a couple weeks due to being overworked and homesick, and what better way to celebrate being home? a party in their childhood friend’s garage. the cold february air nipped at y/n’s hands and cheeks as she struggled to keep warm, and matt took notice of this, falling behind the group to hold her and keep her warm. once she felt like she was warm enough to keep walking without shivering, the two made their way up nate’s driveway, and were welcomed with the smell of beer, weed, and stale cigars.

as the party went on, more people arrived, some y/n knew well, and some she was only acquainted with. there were a few girls from shared high school classes present, and y/n spent most of her time catching up with them, sitting matt or playing beer pong with nate, but there was one blonde girl in particular that kept eyeing y/n. the nasty look on her face made it evident that she didn’t like how close y/n and matt were.

y/n knew the girl from high school, she was friends with matt’s ex fling nicole, and had always seemed to have a strong disliking for the girl so close to matt. but y/n brushed it off, figuring it was just jealousy because y/n stayed close with the triplets and she didn’t. but y/n was proven wrong when matt went to the bathroom and the blonde girl approached her.

“why are you so close to matt? it’s like you’re practically sitting in his lap.” the girl, that y/n remembered was named alara spat.

“what does it matter to you?”

“seeing as he’s my boyfriend, i’d rather not have a random girl hanging off him.”

“since when have you and matt been dating?”

“about a month, we hooked up the last time he was home and now we’re keeping it lowkey.”

“matt’s never even mentioned you.”

“well now you know to stay away from him, m’kay?” the girl laughs, before walking away, leaving y/n angry and upset as she stares at the beer she just opened. y/n scoffs and goes to throw her beer away as matt reentered the garage, immediately noticing her furrows brows.

“you okay?” matt hums, reaching out to brush the hair from her face as she steps back.

“don’t fucking touch me. i cant believe you.” she spits, leaving matt dumbfounded as he watches her walk over to nate, the two of them sharing a quick hug before she exits the garage.

matt’s eyes dart around the room, meeting alara’s pleased smirk as matt storms his way over to the blonde girl, gripping her bicep as he drags her to the corner of the garage.

“what the fuck did you say to y/n?”

“i told her the truth.” alara laughs, watching as matt’s expression grows angrier.

“please enlighten on what you believe is the truth? because the last i remember, you’re just some girl i fucked six months ago and then blocked when you went psychotic.”

“i told her we’re dating.”

“jesus christ alara, i just got her back into my life and you come in and fuck everything up.”

“well now you can be with me, matty.”

“no. you’re always going to be the random hookup that i regret and wish never happened. stay the fuck away from me.” matt seethes, dropping the girl’s arm and quickly leaving the garage, hoping to catch up to y/n. as he runs down the sidewalk, he spots her a couple feet ahead and he picks up his pace until he’s right behind her.

“y/n wait.”

“save it matt. i don’t want to hear whatever excuse for breaking my heart, again, that you’ve got ready.”

“it’s not an excuse. i’m not with her. she’s some chick i fooled around with six months ago, before you and i fixed things.”

“i don’t care matt, you and i aren’t together!” the girl yells, turning around to face as tears slide down her rosy, cold cheeks, prompting matt to delicately take her face in his hands as he wipes the tears. y/n’s eyes squeeze shut as she tries to find the willpower to pull away from his touch, but his hands are warm and she misses his hands on her and it’s harder to pull away with every passing second.

“i know we’re not together, but i want us to be. i fucked up the first time we had something because i listened to the fear in my head. since the night you showed up crying in the rain, five months ago, there hasn’t been another girl in my life. you are the only person i love, and want to love. i am completely covered in you. i am consumed by you. so please listen to me when i say there is nobody else, and there never will be.”

“matt, i’m scared. you made me let you in again, you made me love you again, and there is this fear in my heart that you’re going to push me away again. that you are going to tell me you love and not mean it again, that you are going to keep breaking me over and over again.”

“i know baby, but i don’t want to let you go again, i fucked up, and i don’t ever want to fuck uo with you again. so if you’ll let me, i will prove to you that i’m here for good. if you let me be your boyfriend, i will promise to never break your heart again. please just give me one more chance to love you right.”

“okay.” y/n whispers, her guard growing thin as matt whispers promises against her lips, and that fear is still there and alive, but how can she say no when he looks so pretty staring at her with frozen cheeks and tears threatening to fall? so, she gives in, pressing her lips to his to seal the proclamations and promises he makes, hoping that there will be some truth to them.

taglist: @dylsdunbar @verosivy @soursturniolo @4sturns @sturnsclutter @spencerstits @meanttomeet @bluesturniolo333 @graciereid @abbie13sworld @ghostofbrock @l9vesick @mylifeisevenstranger @bethsturn @ifilwtmfc @themattgirl @lovingmattysposts @lacysturniolo @freshloveee

taglist: @freshsturns @forevergirlposts @sturniolo-fav-matt @cupidsword @lustfulslxt @sturnifyed @teapartyprincess4two @mangosrar @querenciasturniolo @pinklittleflower @cutenote @ellie-luvsfics @strniolo @junnniiieee07 @33sturniolo @hearts4chris @evie-sturns @nicksmainbitch @gnxosblog @sturniolopepsi @wronqness99 @sturniolossss @hesvoid3434 @mattsfavwh3re @inlovewithmattstur

#Spotify #matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo imagine #matt sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo x you #matt sturniolo oneshots #matthew sturniolo smut #matthew sturniolo x fem!reader #matthew sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo imagine

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midnightwind · 19 days ago

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gonna stream of consciousness discuss Lucanis, Spite, their relationship, and the control they have over each other

This started as me wondering just how their communication works, because sometimes Spite chimes in with a thought or feeling from Lucanis that he doesn't voice. Yet the vast majority of their interactions are verbal on Lucanis' end. Spite also operates mostly on the basis of "if Lucanis or one of the party members doesn't explain something, then I won't be able to understand" which is one of the popular reasons for his many tantrums. So it seems like Spite can only comb through Lucanis' mind so well. Is it because they've been at odds for a year? Is it possible for them to reach a level of harmony where they can converse solely in the mental? Is there a point where Spite can sift through Lucanis' memories and knowledge without needing the man to audibly tell him anything?

I think Lucanis doesn't realize just how much he controls Spite's environment and abilities. When Spite asks for your help in Inner Demons and pulls you into their mind palace, he's locked out of the inner chamber. He can't get past the many guardians Lucanis has put up to reason and guilt himself into isolation. He needs Rook to make any progress towards his host. Lucanis wants to distance himself so much from Spite, he has recreated their prison and then locks Spite out into the farthest reaches of it.

Imagine being ripped from your home and shoved into another person, to go from a life of fluid freedom to a small vessel of unyielding flesh. Imagine that, at the very least, you are not alone in this agony. In the Ossuary, the real one, Spite and Lucanis always had each other. They hated everything about it. But they were never alone. They came to an understanding. They are as much kindred souls as they can be given their twisted creation. There is a comfort to be found in that.

Instead, Lucanis has trapped himself in the very room where they likely were forced together. Where Zara likely tortured him most. He picked the room holding the worst memories and the sharpest pain, and he forced Spite out of it. Lucanis has decided to hold a knife by the blade in a white knuckled grip and pushed away the one being who knows that pain intimately. And it feels like a betrayal. They experienced horrible things in that room, together. They survived the ordeals, together. They found reason to cling to themselves, the determination to live, together. And at the end, Lucanis chooses to be alone. Because it's easier to think he deserved it all if Spite isn't there to save him from himself again.

But they escaped the real prison! They're finally free. Spite can finally experience all the happier memories and thoughts Lucanis held onto, see the world he's now trapped in, because not once does Spite think to kill his host. Not once does Spite try to walk him off a cliff, use any number of sharp knives or vicious poisons a Crow carries, never tries to talk him into death. He wants out. He wants to be free, but he knows that it would come with a price. So instead, he settles for living. That's why he's furious at Lucanis for locking them both up in a pantry, for keeping himself tucked away from the others, for refusing to even acknowledge the torture he is subjecting them both to.

I can only imagine how infuriating it must be for Spite. He's thrust into the physical world where nothing makes sense to him. He's trapped in a man who would rather carry their prison with him forever than try to find a way to live, changed as he is. He's not even allowed to cling to the one bastion of comfort in this new, gently hellish existence because the would-be friend has locked him out. And to top it off, their new home is a bubble inside his home. Lucanis is staying in the Fade, and Spite isn't allowed to exist there. Imagine being in a cage where your home is just outside the cell. You can see it, smell it, hear it, but you can't even so much as poke a finger through the bars. I would have started biting people.

The two times we see Spite take over in the Lighthouse, he isn't reveling in this touch of home. He isn't seen trying to walk them into the welcoming abyss to drift forever in the Fade. He's trying to reach the Eluvian. People have theorized that Spite was trying to take Lucanis back to Treviso. To take him home, to his family, to get help. Spite wants out, but more than that, he wants Lucanis to start living. When Rook starts getting through to the assassin, when he starts opening up and engaging with the group, Spite lashes out less. He earnestly tries to talk with the party at times. He expresses more curiosity than animosity to them.

I can only imagine Spite's frustration as Lucanis insists on holding onto their prison given how much better things are with the Veilguard. How bitter it must be to have thrown himself at every door in the ghost of that cage for naught, just to watch Rook breeze through it. How gutting it must have felt to finally reach Lucanis and he's chosen the place that hurt them the most. And he has chosen to live in it alone.

I think Lucanis never truly realizes the extent to which Spite cares. The tragedy of their existence isn't solely a spirit trapped in a man, it's two kindred souls who experienced the worst, but always had each other. It's one rejecting the other despite the shared trauma. They should have been happier, more at peace, after the escape, but Spite was never allowed to properly leave because Lucanis dragged that place into them. He spent a year trying to survive hell, then left Spite thrashing at the walls of it. And he wonders why the demon is screaming.

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foreverunraveling · 1 year ago

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I kind of love the use of dirt in S1E4?

When the episode starts, Wille is laying his head on Erik’s casket. He reaches out for some dirt on it as the last conversation they have when Erik leaves Wille at Hillerska in episode 1 plays in the background. The words' dual meaning becomes obvious.

Wille touches the dirt, feels it. The dirt is real. There's not much of it, but it's real. And he's losing it. He's lost the one thing in his life that is real--his relationship with his brother, Erik.

For most of his life, I’d imagine that Erik was the only person in the world with whom Wille could be fully real. And Erik was probably one of the only people who was real with Wille back. The only person with whom he could have a real relationship. Who didn’t expect a polite, respectful prince and nothing else. Who would tell Wille to run on the count of three during a boring photoshoot and slip down the muddy hill with him.

And then Erik dies. The only real connection that Wille can ever remember having in the world is gone. And Wille is realizing that he pushed the very last glimmer of a real connection away. And nothing feels real any more. So Wille goes to the football field where he was with Simon, a place where he felt truly normal, looking for something that will make him feel real. And all he finds is astroturf—no real dirt. He realizes that without Simon, there’s nothing real left in his life. No one who sees him and accepts him for who he really is. No one who knows the real Wille, who is messy and dirty, and still cares for him regardless.

And it sinks in. Without Erik, there’s nothing tethering Wille to this earth any more. The rest of the world seems further and further away. Fake, as Wille discovers the astroturf on the soccer field is. So, Wille reaches out for Simon, the one person who can ground him again.

The only real thing that Wille has left in his life is Simon. He’s the only person left who would ever be fully real with Wille. Tell Wille that he’s actually the country's biggest welfare recipient. Give Wille shit when he tries to hide from August. Discreetly laugh in August’s face with him. Dare him to evade the cousin he hates for an evening to experience something totally normal with real people.

And not only that, but Simon is the only person left in his life who Wille can be fully real with at this point. No one else has any idea about the sexuality crisis that Wille is going through or how that plays into any of his feelings about ascending to the role of Crown Prince. No one has any idea about what happened between him and Simon. No one knows that he doesn’t really like August, or the school, or his role. Except Simon. Simon is the only one left who sees Wille for himself—a real person rather than a personification of his title.

And, as Wille points out, what he and Simon have—what he feels for Simon, at the very least—is real. Wille has tried to fight it, but the sheer reality of it rips through the paper-thin fake layers with which Wille tries to shield himself. “I’m not like that” and “I can’t do this any more.” But alone, out on the field, where Wille expected to find the normalcy he felt when he went to Rosh’s game, he’s surrounded by only reminders that nothing left is real.

So Wille reaches out for Simon—the only one who can ground him again. Because unlike the astroturf on which Prince Wilhelm's life is built, dirt is real. What they have is real. And real life is messy, it’s dirty, and you can pretend otherwise, but you’ll end up falling down in the mud either way. And Wille is choosing to grasp at the only thing left that he sees in his life that is real. Simon.

#simon × wilhelm #young royals #wilmon #young royals netflix #dirt #young royals season one #it's just dirt ignore me #the fake/real thing has definitely been talked about a lot but I don't know about the dirt part #anyways this is my rant about dirt

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januaryembrs · 1 year ago

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LAST KNIGHT IN SOHO | Marc Spector/Steven Grant x Reader [9]

Description: Layla, Steven and Dove set off towards Ammit’s tomb across the dunes, only Steven and Dove have a heavy confession they’ve each been meaning to make.

Word count: 10.8k

Trigger warnings: MINORS DNI. 18+. SMUT UNDER THE CUT. (What the heck) Fingering, F!reader, blood, flares, guns, canon level murder. Hints at grooming (not between Steven/Marc obviously), hints at toxic relationship. (Based on Last Night in Soho dir. Edgar Wright)

Authors note: I have never written anything smutty in my life, I hope this is okay. It kinda hit me out of no where. Also there will be a full smut chapter when the series is finished as a little treat.

main masterlist | series masterlist

Life seemed to have this horribly funny way of ripping goodness out of Dove’s hands.

Just as Layla had found a match on her tablet for the constellations, coordinates popping up on the screen like a digital bat signal, Khonshu gave a groan of pain even a god couldn’t hold back. He dropped to his knees, one of his boney hands falling to steady himself on the warm sand, the other jutted into the night sky to hold the stars where they watched him weaken.

Dove watched in frozen shock as in a matter of seconds he slipped away into the darkness, though dragged seemed a better term for it.

The Ennead had imprisoned him, just as they said they would.

A flash of relief ripped through Dove as she watched the cruel god slip away, finally freeing the shackles he held around her Steven. A prison that kept him scared, kept him quiet, even more so than that of his own body, was gone.

Though with that went his suit, she thought with a moment of abject horror, frozen in her limbs as if waiting for her god to be ripped from her too.

Her breath caught against her chest, waiting, waiting to be freed from the chains around her legs, the leash around her neck. She wanted this over, wanted to be a gift shoppist again more than anything. She would take hours of Donna’s shrill voice berating her over merchandise any day than this sense of ownership he held over her.

Because if it was just Khonshu imprisoned, the mission would fall onto her shoulders. And she couldn’t do any of this alone, any of it without Steven. She could do none of it without Marc. She would be alone in this again.

She’d rather die than live long enough to see either of them hurt for real this time.

Just get it over with. She near begged the gods. I can’t be the one to save them. I couldn’t even save her, I’m not the one you want for this.

That is, until she watched Steven’s legs give out from beneath him and his eyes roll to the back of his lids, his body going limp, and she felt her heart drop into her stomach.

“Steven-Steven!” Dove called, lunging to grab him under the arms to hold him steady. But it was no use. His breath gave a rattled huff, his body completely yielding to unconsciousness, nearly toppling her over herself had she not put a hand out to stop the two of them face planting into the course sand.

Hoisting him over to his back, she brought a hand up to his cheek, his eyes flickering closed in REM, shaking his head with more care than she knew she should. She couldn’t find it in herself to strike him any harsher.

Layla fell to her knees beside her, more forceful with her shoves as she pushed his muscled body with a desperate sort of anger, begging him for the both of them to wake up.

“Marc? Marc, come on!” The other woman yelled, bunching his jumper in her fists until her knuckles turned just as white as the alabaster fabric, “Come on! Where are you?”

Then she heard it. Dove felt her ears prick up, an engine stuttering in the distance, tires crunching over sand, a metal rattling of bodywork against a motor.

A car. A truck, full of bodies. Full of guns.

She could hear the bullets rattling in their chambers, hear the men’s breathing, jeering to one another.

Harrow’s men. Or maybe even Mogart’s. She didn’t know anymore. She just knew they spelled danger.

“We have to go,” Dove said exasperated, scrambling to her feet despite the sand shifting under their weight as the sounds approached, “We need to leave now.”

“Leave him, they won’t shoot him if he already looks dead,” Layla huffed, dropping Steven’s arm, grabbing the scruff of Dove’s collar ferociously, “Leave him,”

“We can’t leave him, what if they fire for good measure?” Dove asked, smacking Layla’s hand away from her with a scowl, “I’m not leaving him-”

A blinding light lit up their faces, their heads snapping to where headlights lit up the dunes surrounding them. The wind seemed to hold its breath as the women stood, spooked deers with targets on their backs.

“Stop being so god damn stubborn for once,” Layla seethed, grabbing the younger woman’s arm tight enough to pinch, “We’ll come back for him in a second, now move,”

It took everything in her to listen.

She was all but dragged into a run towards their own vehicle where they had been piecing together the map not even twenty minutes earlier. She hated how funny time was like that.

They waited on bated breaths, hoping the truck would drive past them with no consequence, no interference.

Though of course, that would never happen. That would be too kind.

Bullets whistled past their legs, something bigger than the pistol Layla had held from what Dove could tell, something made for killing quickly, killing messily.

The women winced hearing the trucks engine slow to a low rumble, carefully rolling down the dune as it shot blindly into the dark where they ducked behind the body of their car, Layla’s breath panting loudly in her ear.

She felt her heartbeat in her throat, praying on everything she’d ever believed in that they didn’t see Steven, that they didn’t shoot Layla. It was redundant worrying about herself, though part of her wondered if the God of chaos had been forced into a ushabti too, she wasn’t willing to figure it out by throwing herself in front of the barrel of the gun.

Layla reached up for the cold metal of the handle, clicking it open and practically forcing Dove in by the scruff of the neck into the wagon end of the truck, the grains of sand crunching under her boots as she lay still, waiting for the truck to hopefully pass.

Clambering in after her and shutting the door quietly, Layla ducked down next to her, the sound of their exhausted breaths cutting through the quiet night. She had faced worse than these men, than this one big gun, yet she felt without Marc there to tell her where to hit them, without Steven there to hold her face and tell her how brave she was, she was nothing.

“I saw them running!” One of the men called out, the two women freezing in their spots, “Check around the truck!”

The flickering of the headlights filtered in through the dirty truck windows, dust smattering the glass though Dove still got a clear view of the vehicle cruising around them, circling like a shark in bloodied waters, searching for the rest of the kill.

She felt Layla tense next to her when her boot hit something near the door, a red satchel with a muddied flame printed on the front.

Flames. Fire. There was a crate full of ammunition she could hear rattling around the back of that truck which only meant one thing. Gunpowder.

“Layla,” She whispered, grabbing the woman’s arm and pointing to the red bag, “Are there matches in there?”

“Flares- why?” Layla murmured back, a scowl on her face at the stupidity of the girl to be talking.

Dove hesitated a moment, keeping an eye on the truck as it rolled past them and looped back towards where Steven lay unconscious still. They didn’t have alot of time left. They would surely shoot at him to be sure, and without the suit anymore-

“There’s bullets in that truck,” Dove whispered, meeting the woman’s eyes through what little light the stars gave them, “Flares set on fire when you pull them right?”

Layla’s scowl seemed to drop as she understood what the girl was suggesting. The woman scrambled for the satchel, ripping the zip open to reveal six red, waxy tubes, the metal hooks hanging off as the triggers.

Shoving one into Dove’s hands, she took one for herself, head snapping to the girl nearly ten years her younger.

“You know what you’re doing?” Layla murmured, the two of them looking through the front windscreen where the headlights seemed to zero in on Steven. Steven, who was running out of time. Steven, who would throw himself in front of endless amounts of guns if it meant she was safe. Steven, who would wake up any second now and meet his end in the middle of no where because she wasn’t fast enough.

“You throw yours to get them away from him, I’ll go after them,” She replied hushedly, her hand opening the door quietly, sliding forwards until her legs dangled off the edge of the carriage. That is until a hand latched onto her shoulder to drag her back.

Her head whipped over her shoulder, worried they had been seen already, only to see Layla’s brown eyes unsure. Remorse ate away at her expression, twitching her eyebrows, scrunching her mouth bitterly.

“You had better be careful,” Layla bit, though Dove knew what the meaning beneath it was. Don’t die. Don’t get hurt. I’m sorry for what I said.

Dove nodded, dropping onto the sand silently, waiting for Layla to slip out of and throw her flare away from Steven.

She lost sight of the woman, her soft, tight curls bouncing around the corner of the truck, her own fingers crossing that the woman would stay far out of harm. She knew she was sorry, knew Layla had a way of exploding at her because she was the easiest target, she was the only one who would actually give her the reaction she’d wanted. She’d always known that hurt people, hurt people. And that’s all Layla was. Hurt, at the fact her ex-husband seemed to dodge every phone call, spill every lie, brush off every argument. She couldn’t say she agreed with how Marc handled the subject of Layla, but in the same way she was hurt, Marc was hurt too.

It’s just who they were.

Seeing a flash of red fly into the dunes, and the rumble of the truck's engine as it practically turned on two wheels and flew towards the commotion, shooting at the flare in the hopes of hitting one of them. She saw where the sand sprayed behind the wheels, stepping out behind their car and drawing her arm back for the shot.

Pulling the metal hook out of its socket, a small crack like a party popper sounded from the palm of her hand, and the red flame sprayed out the end. Before the men even had time to switch the gun onto her, she’d thrown it towards the rear of their vehicle, where she now saw a heavy artillery weapon, the clink and rattle of bullets rolling in the seat as the car came to a stop in front of Layla’s distraction.

She heard a shout of shock as her flare made contact, bouncing into the rear, before a white spark flew into the air and fizzled, like a star reaching its supernova within the inky black night.

She worried for a moment that that was it, that was all her brilliant plan could give, until ten more shots of the same ivory light flew into the sky, a crackle lingering in the truck before a huge ball of flame engulfed the car whole. Yells of fright from the passengers were cut off with one final whoosh and the yellow blaze licked into the black once more, silencing whatever protests the men had.

They had died. They had burned at her hand. And yet, thinking back to how suddenly they could have stuffed Steven full of bullets, she struggled to fight the relief that had filled her body.

Steven.

Spinning on her heel, she nearly jumped out of her skin when she collided with a hard body, one that seemed to have watched the conflict splayed all over her face in the warmth of the fire. She readied herself to shove them away, to call Layla for help, until she snapped out of her haze and saw a very tired, very sandy face that looked at her as if he’d seen an archangel lighting his way.

Steven.

She said nothing, though she wanted to tell him how pretty his eyes looked in the dark. She wanted to tell him how she’d thought of him every single day since the day they’d met, that he’d be the one to drag her out of the shadows that smothered her, that if there was one thing that could take away her pain, her sorrow, that could make her feel alive again, it was him.

But she didn’t. Because there weren't enough words, wasn’t enough time, to tell him how she felt.

So she pulled him into the tightest hug she could muster instead.

She felt her breath leave her when his arms went around her waist, nose burrowing into her neck, sighing. She didn’t care he was dirty, so was she, didn’t care that he was breathing so close to her skin, she revelled in it in fact. Her every hair stood on end as he kissed her shoulder, bare from where her shirt had ripped, kissed it again for good measure, her whole body shivering under his lips. He was so warm compared to her, she’d felt cold ever since that night she’d died, like a constant reminder she was just a body, and he was so full of life. He was so Steven it filled her heart until she thought it would come running out of her eyes in tears.

“I missed you so much,” He whispered in her ear, as if utterly unaware how receptive she would be to the sound of his voice, “I thought I was going crazy,”

“You’re never crazy, not to me,” She murmured back, feeling him kiss her cheek.

She begged him to kiss her lips next. God she’d missed him. She wanted him more than the syrupy air they stood in, had a greed for him she’d never known before. One kiss hadn’t been enough, she needed more.

She needed all of him.

The pit in her stomach that had laid stagnant for weeks, that had been a dormant pit flared with heat as he pulled away from her, his eyes soppy and dizzy as he watched her, her heart caving in through her chest.

She could kiss him right there and he would kiss her back. She didn’t know how she knew it but she did.

Sighing as she heard Layla shuffling behind her, crawling out of her hiding place behind the truck, she tilted her head forwards until it met his forehead, the feeling of her nose brushing against his having her squeeze him tighter.

“I missed you too, Steven,” She whispered, feeling his body tense as her words fell in blankets on his lips.

Her mouth was right there for the taking, his head screamed to him. Her plush lips were seconds away from his, the scene he’d imagined for himself over and over and over was right there.

Yet they both pulled away, meeting each other's longing gaze once more before they turned back to the truck.

The drum and bass was pounding in her chest, constricting her throat. Her top rode up her stomach, breasts hiked up enough to touch her chin, the mini shorts hugging her legs much too tight for comfort. But this was what they paid for. For her.

It wasn’t so bad as far as nightclubs went. It was fast paced which kept her shifts moving quick, the drinks were easy to memorise, and for the most part she was behind a thick bar that separated her from the handsier customers. But tonight she was on shot duty, her job was to entice as many willing buyers into slamming little vials of jäger that would only drain their wallets. She knew it was unethical, knew she should have more shame, but life was shit like that sometimes.

Matty had brought home a whole baby, Billie, who she loved more than life itself, though the poor little girl couldn’t escape the colic no matter how hard the five of them rocked her, burped her, winded her. She kept them up most nights, and who’d have thought babies were so expensive.

Billie and Matty alone took the majority of their funds, if not the bills on the house, if not them then it was Sammy being bailed out of the holding cell every other weekend for “disturbing public peace”, that one she could believe.

Joey, her clever clever boy, had managed to get a scholarship to see him through most of university, but that didn’t negate the fact he was so busy with his extra classes, being the genius child he was, he hadn’t the time for an extra job to contribute to the family.

And then there was Mikey.

Mikey, who she had pretended to ignore came home with bloodshot eyes or a manic sort of excitement, or a slackened jaw. Mikey, who had done what he did best and tried to make friends, only to get mixed with the wrong crowd and end up addicted. Mikey, who needed to be sent to the very expensive rehab downtown quickly if they had any chance of pulling him out of this habit before he found himself too deep.

Times were tough, eighteen-year-old Dove liked to think she was tougher.

She pretended to ignore the way the men’s eyes trailed her body like a public footpath, barely any acknowledgement in their eyes that she was human and not just a nice ass and a tight top. She pretended they didn’t brush against her one too many times for it to be an accident, or even the fact they tipped her bigger if they were brave enough to brazenly touch her stomach, the soft of her arms, the plushness of her legs as she walked through the sea of dancers.

They began to blur into one horrid mess of men she choked out thanks to as they handed her a twenty and told her to keep the change.

“You’re worth more than that, you know?” A voice interrupted her, where she stood near the bar, the waitress refilling her tray with shots.

Golden painted eyelids flicked up as she caught sight of the man, ready to give a catty remark when she saw someone leaning against the glass countertop, sticky residue of sweet alcohol under his neat suit. Certainly out of sorts in a place like this.

“You think?” She asked, boredly, picking at her fingernails as the man spoke. She couldn’t lie to herself, he was handsome. Not the most handsome man to ever flirt with her, though the others usually were slurring and asking if they would get their drinks free if they give her something nice in return. This man seemed sober, however, his drink small and barely touched, “Good to know,”

“I think a girl like you deserves to have the drinks brought to you on a silver platter,” He said cheekily, sipping his drink slowly as the bartenders looked between her and the man with teasing smiles.

“Don’t bother, Frank,” Eddie said, shaking a cocktail over his shoulder with little more than an eyelid batted, “She’s hard to get. Even said no to a date with me a few times,”

“How could I ever be so cruel to turn down such a stud?” She sneered, though the grin on her face told an entirely different story. She was kidding, ofcourse. “Such a pretty boy, and yet my answer is still the same. I don’t have time for boys,”

“Who said anything about boys?” Frank asked, aghast, placing a hand on his chest, “I would never expect a grown woman like you to want a boy. It’s a man you need.”

She was painfully aware of how much older than her he looked, easily approaching his thirty year mark if his grown attire and mature voice was anything to go off of.

It had been her birthday two weeks ago.

“A man, huh?” She asked cockily, rolling her eyes at the lust in his eyes as she became meaner to him. Men were so predictable. She treated him nice, he was interested. She was a bitch to him, he wanted her more. “Let me know if any of you find one,”

With that, she slid the silver tray of shots off the bar and took off into the sea of people, a little snigger leaving her lips at the way Frank watched her like a hawk.

She had certainly not been expecting a hand to grab her by the belt loops on her shorts, spinning her back to where she had just come from, only to be met with the grey eyes of the man at the bar that she thought she’d left in the dust.

“Are you out of your mind-” Dove cried, slapping his hand off her, though his smile only widened with a snicker of his own.

“One date?” He asked, tugging her closer by the front of her shorts, “One date is all I ask,”

“You don’t even know my name,” She bit back, back when she had it in her to be mean, when he hadn’t ripped the disobedience out of her.

His finger came up to flick the name badge on her chest that she purposely stole from someone else, the one reading Sandie. She never gave out her real name, not just for her safety but for her boys too.

“One date, Sandie,” Frank said, producing a business card out of his pocket, “Just your start date,”

She recoiled. This wasn’t what she’d been expecting what so ever. She’d thought he was flirting, she’d been so sure of it. But a job offer, that was something else.

Ripping the card out of his fingers, she read the sparkly red writing on the front.

for a good night, simply follow the yellow brick road

-frank osbourne

“This is the fakest looking piece of shit I’ve ever seen,” She retorted, which only made him laugh at her attempt of damaging his ego, “I bet this number isn’t even real,”

“No?” He goaded, stuffing his hand even further into his pocket to pull out a wad of twenties.

Her eyes widened as he wedged the roll of money into her front pocket, squeezing it into the fabric where it clung to her skin. Her mouth bobbed open once, perhaps to ask what he did for a living or if he was compensating for something smaller elsewhere. But the usual smartmouth she had on her was gone.

In fact she couldn’t even say anything when he picked up a shot off her tray and slammed it back right there and then on the dance floor, the black liquor dripping down the corner of his mouth.

He smiled at her, wiping it away with the back of his expensive cuff, diamond cufflinks she’d missed at first glance flashing under the strobe lights as the beat in the song dropped and rattled through her chest.

“Keep the change, honey,” He yelled, winking at her smoothly and disappearing back into the crowd as if he had never even been there.

She was embarrassed at how fast she pocketed his number.

Her body was jolting forwards, saved luckily by the seat belt wrapped over her chest, a small gasp crawling out her lips.

She realised with a quick look out the front of the window that they had come to an abrupt stop, a terracotta mountain face staring back at them through the bullet holes cracking the windscreen.

Seeing Layla’s stoic expression and the tension that immersed the car as she woke up, she felt whatever words had been said while she slept bite at her skin, rubbing the sleep dust from her eyes.

“Damn, girl. What did the brake pedal ever do to you?” She muttered, and she hated the way her tummy flurried at the sight of Steven’s bemused smile. She loved making him smile. She saw the bags that dragged at his soft doe eyes, wanted to grab his chin and force him to look at her to get just a moment more of his honeyed gaze, his pretty eyelashes, his expressive brows.

“We’re on foot from here,” Layla ordered, unbuckling herself and hopping out the side of the truck, slinging her rucksack over her back. Dove thought for a moment if she should ask what had happened while she had been asleep in the back seat, yet then she thought better of it. Layla was a bear she never wanted to poke with a stick, let alone more than she already had.

“Good sleep?” Steven asked, swivelling around his position in the passenger side, watching her carefully with a giddy smile.

She licked her lips, fiddling with the tips of her nails, where the odd one had begun healing, where they didn’t hurt as much since she’d stopped gnawing at her loose skin.

“Not as good as our sleepovers,” She mumbled into the quiet of the car, the air like the inside of a candy floss machine; sweet and wispy as he giggled.

“Never,” He replied, the two of them sharing a childish glee. They near jumped out their skin when Layla’s knuckles came down on Dove’s window, harsh and interrupting.

“Are we going, or what?” The woman said loud enough for them to hear the frustration in her tone even through the thick glass.

Guilt flashed across the younger woman’s face as she unlatched her door, the desert heat smacking her in the face like a hand.

Layla simply rolled her eyes at the two bumbling idiots, the way Steven seemed to half tumble out of his own seat just to be near her faster, the way it was clear from the way their hands kept falling to their sides they itched to touch even for a single moment.

She kissed her teeth, spinning on her heel as they looked to her for direction, feeling more akin to a babysitter now Marc didn’t have the body. She hated him when he was in control, hated him when he wasn’t. The entire idea of him was exhausting her, the knife twisting deeper when Steven told her Marc had agreed to disappear without a single goodbye for Steven’s sake.

It wasn’t that she wanted him back. But she was only human. She would have appreciated a real goodbye at least.

“This way. Map says they should be just on the other side of this gorge.” She called behind her, Dove and Steven trailing after her mindlessly, their eyes flicking up to one another wordlessly every few steps.

They took it that Layla wanted some time to herself as she took off on her own, muttering under her breath with a sneer from what they could see. She would keep close enough to listen for trouble, but far enough that she had some peace with her thoughts.

Dove felt a guilty sense of gratitude that her and Steven had a moment alone. She hadn’t known such calm in weeks.

“Marc said-” She started after a few minutes of quiet, “He said you didn’t know about all of this before. How are you doing, finding out you’re sharing your body with a whole other person I mean,” She prompted, chancing a glance at his face, his lip tugged between his teeth.

“Honestly,” He sighed, his tired eyes falling on her face that gazed back with nothing but worry. No judgement, no fear. Never from her. “Honestly, it’s frazzled me a bit. I mean it’s like being in a dream where I’m watching everything happen around me but I’m stuck in the backseat shouting how shit a driver Marc is-”

She couldn’t help the small chuckle that fell from her lips, the one that had him smiling too, not missing the way her shoulder bumped him lightly.

“It’s like I’m yanking on the reins, trying to get my own body back to being mine, and yet no one’s listening, you know?” He continued, and she felt the lump shift in the bottom of her throat.

Yes. I know exactly what you mean, Steven. I think you’re the only person who can ever know, only person since Grace who has ever known me-

And Marc. They were the only two to understand.

She nodded silently, unwilling to meet his eyes.

“Oh god, what am I saying?” Steven muttered cursing to himself, looking at her with sorrowful eyes, “Seth still has you, doesn’t he? It was only Khonshu who they punished.”

She nodded again, keeping an eye on the ground as the terrain became a bit more rocky, stepping down carefully where she saw Layla’s boot print.

“Love, you have to know, that evening in the museum-” He began, following in her footsteps, stopping when his foot slipped on the grainy bank, feeling her hand grab his own, the very touch catching his breath as he stepped down safely to the rest of the sand. “Thanks- in the museum, I never meant for you to get hurt-”

“Steven, it’s okay, you don’t need to say that,” She brushed off bashfully, turning her head to the ground and pulling away from his saccharine touch.

But he wouldn’t let her. She needed to hear it. Needed more than the fair and few nice words Marc had given her the past few weeks. Not when she’d endured so much, so much for him.

He grabbed her hand again, feeling the cold skin under his warm palm, not letting her slip away so fast this time as her eyes flicked up to his and stuck as they traipsed through the sand.

“No, you shouldn’t have been hurt that day. You shouldn’t have had any of this happen to you, and I’m sorry, Dove.” He said perhaps the most serious she’d ever seen him and all she could do was nod wordlessly. “I’m sorry you’re in this mess because of me,”

“It’s not your fault, Steven,” She murmured, squeezing his hand with a frown, “It’s not Marc’s either. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time, end of.”

“Still, I’m sorry it happened,” He said, bambi brown eyes falling over the planes of her face, “I promise, Marc and I will find a way to fix it when this is over,”

She smiled again, and he could swear he could feel his chest rattling with his own heartbeat. It was terrifying the effect she had on every inch of his body, the way his stomach and heart seemed to butterfly the moment she looked at him, the way her eyes softened under his gaze, the same woman he’d wanted even after so much hurt.

“It’s not so bad anyway,” She said, her attention returning to the path Layla trekked along, her chocolate curls glistening in the sunset, her lithe figure just close enough to see where she followed her tablet’s directions, “Marc has been a big help, although I wouldn’t be surprised if he never wanted to see me again after this. I can’t imagine he likes me very much,”

“Who wouldn’t like you?” Steven asked, as if it were the most obvious question out there. He felt Marc writhe with a flick of sorrow inside the body, the feeling of being on the outside still unusual to him. “I think he likes you just fine.”

She shook her head with a doubtful smile, “If you say so, Steven,”

“No, honestly!” He pushed, and she only snickered more as he pulled her closer, lowering his voice to a whisper, “I mean don’t tell him this, but I think he likes you more than he even likes me,”

“Me?” She giggled, entertaining the cheeky look in his eyes with another nudge to his shoulder, “Why? All I’ve done is annoy him since the day I saw him in my room and thought he was you,”

“Well, you’re my best friend for one,” Her cheeks heated at that, “And you’re the kindest person to ever walk the planet. And you’re honest, most honest person I know,”

Her smile dampened, not that he seemed to notice as he was lost in a dizzy world of his own, his thumb stroking the back of her hand gently. Honest. That’s what he valued about her. That she was honest.

She felt the life suck out of her stomache.

“Steven-” She started, her chest sunken. She was sure she could feel every breath rattling around the empty chamber, grabbing her throat.

Liar. They whispered. Liar, liar, liar.

“No, I know you’re going to go all shy, but you are, you’re the only one who doesn’t hide stuff from me like I’m a child, like Marc, all he does is keep things from me,” It was torture. Actual torture. It was as though he was bringing the knife down onto her chest with every sweet word, words that he meant to soothe and warm, words that tore and mutilated her. “You would never do that, now would you?”

It took her a moment to realise he asked a question, took a moment for her to snap out of the wallowing guilt that threatened to drag her under.

She needed to tell him. Needed to have it out with him, tell him what a disgusting, used up mess she was, tell him what she had done to Frank, tell him what she had let happen to Grace. He would be horrified, he would hate her.

She needed to tell him.

But instead she said;

“Never, Steven,”

They continued through the crevice in the land until they came out the otherside, onto a wide sandy ledge, Layla already scouting out across the remaining land.

“There they are,” She called over her shoulder as Dove and Steven caught up, the former much quieter than she had been initially, “Let’s keep moving. Looks like they’re already inside. We’ll need to find another way to beat them to Ammit.”

“After you, love,” Steven said with a besotted smile, holding a hand out for Dove to follow, “Promise I’ll save you if you fall,”

She smiled at him kindly, the ache in her chest weakening as she focused on the task at hand. He would understand. He would understand her reasoning for lying, he had to understand-

She stepped on in silence, carefully following Layla’s bootprints down the steep decline, the sharp rock edges scrutinising her every footstep. It wasn’t for another thirty minutes until they stepped foot on even ground, nearing the deserted campsite, fires reduced to a pile of small embers, not a soul in sight.

That is, until the trio talked to the centre of the camp, all three of them on high alert for any of Harrow’s men lingering for intruders.

Dove had barely seen the taupe four legged creature behind her until it bleated in her ear with a low grunt.

She squealed, stumbling back into Steven’s awaiting arms that wrapped around her shaken figure, her eyes wide as she turned to see two large onyx eyes blinking down at her through inch long lashes, munching happily on some hay.

A camel.

She felt her face warm as she heard the other two begin to snicker at her skittishness, Steven’s chest rumbling behind her with laughter. He stroked her hair softly, “Told you I’d save you,”

“S-sorry,” She muttered, releasing herself from him with a sheepish grin. Her hand came up to the camel’s snout to give it a short rub, the peach fuzz tickling her palm.

“You’d be scared of your own shadow following you,” Layla teased in probably the nicest tone she’d used all day. It seemed a brisk walk where you could curse out your ex all you wanted did the world wonders.

“You try having a god of violence following you, see how comfortable you are with bastards sneaking up on you,” Dove retorted, using the tips of her nails to scratch behind the camel’s ear, his lashes batting sweetly down at her.

Layla set off further into the camp, now it was clear they were the only ones there, urging them towards where an old mine shaft entrance seemed to open up into the middle of another mountain crest, undoubtedly where Harrow’s men had entered.

“Let’s check for supplies,” The older woman suggested, tightening the strap of her backpack with a small squint, the last of the Egyptian sun beating down on them.

Dove nodded, heading off towards one of the nearest tents, seeing a handful of tools resting against crates, small army grade beds set up, raised off the floor. She dug around the few crates, to find the odd bit of clothing, jackets she didn’t need, a torch she flicked on only to find it had run out of battery.

She snagged a few bits of mountaineering rope, tucking it into her satchel Layla had given her from the truck, a pickaxe she held and quickly saw how impractical it was to carry around.

The knife stared at her from on top of the bed. She should pick it up, she knew it was smart to defend themselves, if not for her then for Layla. Or for Steven. Sure, she would be fine, but they were human.

Her hand shook as she held the leather handle, the blade a good eight inches and covered with a rusty brown liquid she didn’t want to acknowledge.

She wasn’t there anymore, she repeated to herself in a mantra, she wasn’t with him anymore. He was gone, he could only haunt her now. She did what she needed to-

Dove was quick to wipe the blood off the metal onto one of the nearby jackets, stopping only when she could see her dishevelled appearance staring back at her in the shine of the blade. Chucking it into the backpack with the rest of her find, she stepped out the tent, heading towards the big canopy she’d seen Steven head towards.

Their conversation from earlier still gnawed at her gut, twisting and writhing inside her like a rot that ate at her. She needed to tell him. He would despise her, he would find her sickening to so much as look at, but she needed to. He deserved the honestly he thought he found in her.

Once they’d stopped Ammit she would tell him. She would hate herself every second until that moment, hate herself every second after too. She would be alone again, she understood. But even if her sweet, sweet Steven forgave her and wanted anything to do with her, there was not a chance in any hell that Marc would allow her around him. He might even turn her in himself, he’ll probably regret saving her life after all. He might even carry out some of Khonshu’s vengeance, might just finish her off, make her pay for lying to Steven, lying to him, liar, liar, liar-

“I know I’m not alone-” There was shouting. But it wasn’t that of Harrow’s men, it wasn’t angered, it wasn’t an order. It was Steven. It was raw, wounded. “I know I’m bloody not alone. I’ve got Layla, and I’ve got Dove. She’s got my back more than you ever have, Marc,”

This was wrong. She shouldn’t be eavesdropping, especially when Steven and Marc seemed to be at odds with one another, it seemed intimate, like watching family fight. But Steven sounded upset, god she hated that sound, he sounded like a dog backed into a corner, unsure, lashing out.

There was no verbal response as she stepped closer, one hand on the drape that acted as a door, preparing to call for him, ask him to tell her everything so she could just fix it for him.

“I appreciate your concern, mate, I really do-” Steven continued, a bite to his words she rarely heard, a snappy tone worlds away from the sweetness he addressed her with. This was violating his privacy, this was wrong, she needed to go in, needed to help him- “So what if I do? You and Layla are divorced, and I definitely didn’t sign any papers or say any vows. The way I see it, I love her and even if theres the smallest chance Dove feels the same way about me, I don’t want you being a grumpy git ruining it for me-”

Her eyes widened. I love her. He loved her? Her heart pounded behind her chest, far harder than anytime it had from fear, from anger, from guilt even. It consumed her lungs, swelling with a warmth that numbed her legs, her hand drawing back the flap to enter the tent.

She had to see him. Had to hear him say it for real.

He cut himself off hearing her enter the tent, his breath catching in his throat. He prayed for a second it was Layla, it would be so much less humiliating, less to explain if it were, though he was sure he was about as flushed as a school boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar as he spun on his heel to see her gobsmacked face staring back at him.

“D-Dove?” He spluttered, nearly knocking himself on his arse as he stepped back, practically falling away from her, the very sight of her burning him, “W-we were talking- just talk about-”

“Say it again,” She said quietly, yet it spun the room into a stifling silence of its own.

Steven breathed heavily, gasping for a breath that seemed to come too late as he felt his brow begin to sweat, his ribs rattling with a difficult sigh.

“I don’t-don’t know what-what you’re…” He hadn’t even the heart to finish his sentence as she stepped fully into the tent, the drape slipping over her shoulder fluidly, her eyes wild, desperate.

“Say it again, Steven,” She begged, and he could hear her laboured breaths about as hard for her as it was for him.

He gulped, his mouth becoming as dry as it was outside of this little bubble they were stuck in, bringing the cuff of his jumper up to swipe away the sweat that bunched up at his temple.

“Well, the thing is,” He started shakily. He had to tell her, rip the plaster off. He could only hope she would ever, could ever feel the same, even if he was enamoured with her and she just wanted him to entertain herself for a while, he could die happy. Even if she realised he really was the weirdo everyone at work avoided like the plague, he would live forever grateful to have been given a chance. He had to tell her, her eyes were too big, too warm to say no to, “See, the thing, love, is I think- no, I-I know, I-” He continued, his arms and legs numb with the shock of seeing her here, shock of what he was confessing after so long, “I love you,”

She didn’t say anything for a moment, her mouth gaping open, showing off her teeth that blew a held breath past them, her chest rising and falling irregularly as they settled under the weight of his words.

“You don’t need to say anything- or do anything-” He carried on after she stared at him with a gobsmacked expression and he began to fear the worst, “or even feel the same-” He felt like an idiot, felt like his face, chest, body was on fire, “If you want to stay friends, that’s alright with m-”

It only took her two full strides before she had grabbed his face with a fervour she had only ever dreamt about and taken his lips onto her own, silencing his bumbling words hotly.

Her body melted against his, pressing up against every crevice as he gasped into her mouth, hands squeezing into nervous fists at his sides before they seemed to wake up and grab her hips, feeling the plush fat underneath her shirt.

He made a sound, somewhere between shock and joy, something that slipped into a whine as her fingers wove through the curls at the nape of his neck.

“Wait-” He gasped in the small moment they broke apart, his eyes fluttering open to see her face more at peace, more blissed than he’d ever seen, “Dove-”

“More.” She mewled, her face scrunching in desperation, brows pulling together as if in pain to be parted.

It took little to no thought on his part what came next after hearing her plea. Steven had never been one to take control, never thought he would be kissing a woman with so much heat, let alone her.

He tugged her closer, harder than before, so sudden she all but fell into him where he was waiting with dry lips that pressed against hers so hard she could feel his teeth behind them. His hands wrapped around her waist, clawing at the bottom of her spine, fingertips pressing into her skin as if worried he’d feel her slip through them like sand.

She breathed heavier into his mouth, whining like a dog for affection, her fingers weaving further into his chocolate curls and squeezing.

He gave an open mouthed bleat of surprise as she bit down on his lip, his own hand migrating up, up under her shirt, following her bare spine, feeling every groove, every mole, every millimetre of skin with a fire that burned her with feverish tingles. He seemed to freeze when he got to her bra, as if to forget such things existed, because he really did forget where and who and what they were wearing, his mind entirely unravelled, shedding all thoughts other than her, her, her.

He didn’t care that her shirt rode up as his arm pushed on, blunt nails pawing at her skin, until they reached the base of her neck, further until he grabbed at the roots of her own hair. He didn’t care for the surprise in her yelp as he flipped the two of them around, pressing her against the post in the centre of the tent, the thick wood scratching at her back, his hand protecting her head as he kissed even harder.

“Steven-” Marc’s voice pulled him out of his paradise. He couldn’t believe he was kissing her, that she was letting him kiss her. He couldn’t believe the way she grabbed at him just as tight, as if she felt the same frenzied need for his body on hers that he did, as only shown by the way she tried to pull him back when he disconnected their lips, “Steven, stop it. Steven-”

“Steven-” She whined, and if there was any chance of him listening to the American man screaming at him from the mirror, the same mirror he had been in a heated row with when she had first entered, that flew out of the window the moment he heard her soft voice in his ear.

He was so sure he had never wanted anything so badly in his life.

“Steven, stop it. This isn’t safe.” Marc tried to command again, his voice a venomous hiss, thick with something sad, only Steven didn’t listen.

Instead, his lips migrated to the bottom of her lips, catching the corner of them, his hand in her hair tugging tighter as she whispered his name again, the laboured breaths rattling against her chest that pressed impossibly closer to him. His hand reached up past her head, ripping the mirror from the nail on the wooden beam, tossing it far enough away he barely heard the clink of the glass breaking into three pieces.

“What was that for?” She whispered, her breath catching when he moved further down her face, a nip to her jaw, before he reached the soft, velvety skin of her neck, the air sucking out of her at the point of contact.

“Marc talks too much,” Was all he said, before he dove into kissing her pulse point, the beat jackhammering against her plush skin, vibrating on his lips as he settled back into kissing the very soul out of her.

She gasped a laugh, right hand remaining in the thicket of his hair as the other detached to reach for the toned fat of his hip bone, the sensation making him groan, flinching as her fingers glided under his own shirt.

He was a man starved, kissing harder and harder with every whimper of approval he received, a note to not stop whatever it was he was doing if it meant she would keep sounding so heavenly.

He tensed as her hand moved over his stomach, feeling over the wear and tear scars he had always wondered how he got. Ofcourse, being who he was now, he knew they were from Marc running all over the world, risking his skin for a moon god they both despised, the same skin she stroked softly where they raised in ugly white lines from his stomach.

He wanted to say something clever, say something to make her laugh, maybe about how Marc wasn’t as good a fighter as he seemed, but his every brain cells vanished when her fingertip so much as traced the hem of his trousers, teasing him with a slight tug at the material.

He felt the cotton brush against where his boner crushed against his soft tummy, harder and more vulnerable than he had ever felt it. The months spent pining after this woman did him no favours, granted him no justice as he melted at the knees under her touch. He felt her smile, not cockily nor with any semblance of lust, just happy. Happy to have him so close, feel him pouring over her with an affection she never deserved.

Feeling no signs of rejection, she tugged at his hemline again, her fingers looping under his boxers this time, the sensation of the warm dusk air flooding his underwear and hitting his sensitive tip like a freight train, the feeling enough to rip him from kissing at her throat with a gasp, his forehead falling down to rest on her collarbone, eyes squeezed together in a near pained mewl.

“Love-” He murmured, hand still grabbing at the back of her locks, pulling tighter when she tugged his clothes again, exposing him for the briefest of seconds to the thick air they’d found themselves in, “You make it so hard to think when you do that,”

“Do what?” She asked, the innocence in her tone snuffed out by the lust twinkling in her eye as she looked to him, gaze bleary, face puffing out from the thrill of it all, her chest rising between the two of them, taking in enough air to sustain a bird mid-flight.

He smiled back at her, a look of adoration and pure, unbloodied happiness smothering his face as he leaned in to kiss her lips a few more times, each one a little braver than the last as he nibbled at her lips, albeit a little too excited. But she didn’t care, it only made her smile wider.

“I want you so badly,” He said, the tips of their noses meeting as his forehead pressed against hers, sharing each other's breaths as her eyes shut in a dizzy sweet glow.

“Have me,” She replied without a beat of hesitation, pressing a kiss to his lips again, “I was always yours to have,”

If he thought he couldn’t get harder, he was sorely mistaken.

His stomach flurried with what felt like a sea of warmth that spread down to his legs, numbing his body as it crawled over his olive skin. He wanted to devour her with a hunger he had never known, wanted to commit every inch of skin to memory, wanted to kiss her until they both lost breath and then kiss her some more, even if his lips turned blue and his brain shut off from deprivation, because he was already feeling giddy from the taste of her alone.

“Really?” Steven asked, his nut brown eyes fat with puppy love, the hearts practically swirling in his gaze like a comic book, “I’ve wanted this for so long. Pictured a bed and candles and chocolates, the whole shebang,”

She giggled at his Steven-like ways that hadn’t faded away even when his lust was as clear as the boner that poked at her leg.

“The whole shebang?” She echoed with an amused smile, but the desire for more had yet to die out, “That sounds lovely, Steven, but there’s just one problem.”

“Which is?” He asked, the frown that flashed over his face smoothing out when he felt her kiss him again, a sharper bite to his lip than before, a harsher tug at his boxers to where she stood patiently waiting, her touch edging even closer to where he wanted her most.

“I want you now.” She whispered, trailing off into a whine, “Please,”

He stared at her with a slack jaw, only spurring her to kiss along the bone with a sweetness soft enough to rot teeth.

Pulling her hair back firm enough to move her away, not hard enough to hurt, he forced her back into his line of sight again, his eyes darker than she would have thought possible for a sweetheart like him.

“You ask me like that ever again and I’ll give you anything,”

A breathy laugh bled into a gasp as his hand released her head, moving down to her flowy trousers, the elastic waist giving in almost too easily as his large, warm hand skirted across the skin of her stomach, goosebumps chasing after the tips of his fingers as they brushed gently over her skin too quickly.

He wanted to kiss every spot of the velvety plushness he could get to, but he could save that for another day, instead he knew exactly where he wanted the most.

“Are you sure-”

“Please,” She whined, his fingers that lingered at her bare hipbone, freezing for a moment before they edged towards the lacey hem of her underwear.

The two of them gasped as his shaking hands went further, crossed the line in the sand, went further down. Steven was sure the air was sucked entirely from his lungs when he brushed over soft, neat hair, as if the feeling of it woke him up from whatever trance he was in.

“Oh my god,” He whispered against her cheek, nose pressed against her temple as she mewled under his palm, melting into where his other hand held her waist, “Oh god-”

He dared himself to go further, though he was sure his heart was in his throat. He could stake his life on waking up in his bed any second now, ankle tied up, a raging boner against his sleep shorts. This was too much for his poor, tender pulse, the sound of the thumps ringing loud as her voice in his ears.

Shaky hands ventured down, until they reached her waiting entrance, already soaked from where his kisses had weakened her insides, melting her into putty under his saccharine lips.

Fearing she would moan all the louder, her hands returned to his shoulder blade, looping under his arm that was busy trailing light touches over where her cunt waited patiently for more of him. She pulled his face back to hers, kissing him hard where she could groan comfortably, the sheer thrill and terror congealing in her gut if they were found in this position. It made her want him more, because no one had ever wanted her, her, so much as to risk their own life.

She felt herself squeak into his searing lips, a drawn out kiss that branded her for all to see, all to know that she was entirely his, when his index fingers curled up, exploring, mapping out what got the best reaction.

“You’re so-” He tried to say. Wet. But she had pulled him back for more the moment he tried to pull away, groaning as his digits slipped between her sex effortlessly.

It was then that he braved another finger, pushing just that bit further into her, still relatively unsure about what he was doing.

“You can go harder,” She seemed to sense his hesitation, but then why wouldn’t she. She knew him sometimes better than he knew himself. Read the exhilaration that faltered on his face as if as easy as flipping a page in a book, “You won’t hurt me,”

Steven nodded, the confirmation exactly what he needed to push his fingers into her further, eyes wild with lust as he watched her face contort in pleasure, her cushion walls squeezing his fingers tightly as he went deeper.

“Like that?” He said, the bite of her lip taking his attention wholly. He tried to hide the glee, the smugness in his tone as he said it, but when he pulled them out only to enter her again and she gave a mewl under her breath, his face was entirely cheshire cat.

“Yes,” She said, and he could have sworn it was something out of a dirty movie. Her face was something out of this world as he kept up with his movements, his mouth watering as her eyes flicked open to stare up at him, entirely at his mercy.

His breath was swept from him for the fourth time that day.

The thousands of years of faces passing this early, the sculptures and paintings even the greatest of hands had crafted, and yet it was his rough, tired digits that created the pinnacle of them all.

Feeling sure of himself with how his ministrations so far had been received, he pulled his fingers from her cunt, trailing back up gently to where he knew her clit would be. He fumbled for a moment, the spur of the moment confidence he’d found dwindling as he realised he was still as inexperienced as he had been the day before, that although he knew women’s anatomy, he had never actually touched a woman like he was now.

Again feeling him waver beneath her, his chocolate eyes dopey and pleading for help from anyone listening, she grabbed hold of his wrist and moved him to where she needed.

“Here, Steven,” She whispered, jolting into his chest when his warm digits met her sensitive nerves. She gave him a soft, loving smile and kissed his lips gently, not pitying but simply adoring his Steven-ness that she felt herself bathing in, felt his entire being shooing away every dark speck of dust that crowded her head too often these days.

“Here?” He asked, circling the small bundle gently, her head dropping to his shoulder with a knee weakened neediness. She drew a sharp breath, the bliss wiped from her face and met with a hot ecstasy, raw and soul sucking as he continued to kiss her cheek where her face buried into his neck more.

“There,” She moaned again, her fingers pulling harder at his hair, clawing at his back like an animal begging for mercy, “Fuck, Steven,”

It was muffled into his jacket, and yet the sound of his name said like that only had him pulling her closer, practically keeping her standing as her legs went to jelly, and he rubbed over her nerves faster, her arms shaking as she yanked at his clothes, his hair, anything she could hold onto.

“I love you so much,” He confessed into her hair; he just needed to say it again. If this, all of this, even without what they were doing, even if it meant he could hold her in his arms tight enough to hear her hummingbird heart against his for the rest of existence, he would die happy.

“I love you-I love you so much,” She returned in a needy whine that made him growl and move his fingers all the more faster. He pressed into her more, his cock raging against his seams to be inside her, to have her as much as she’d asked for, her body pressing harshly against the wooden post behind her as his legs straddled her thigh that shook weakly.

He was everywhere. His voice was in her ear, his chest was in her face, his scent was in her nose, his fingers were inside her, his hand tugged her even closer where it spread widely across her spine.

She felt it pooling in her stomach before she could put a name to it, her squeals and pants getting lost in his neck as he moaned with her, and she realised his own sex was pressing angrily against her, a problem that only made her cry out more, grab at him harder.

“Steven-I’m gonna-” She gasped, pressing her forehead to his jaw, “I’m gonna-”

If Steven wanted to say something, it seemed lost to his glazed eyes that watched her like a man on death row, took note of every facial feature as if he’d ever be able to forget how she looked when she came.

She felt the heat in her stomach fizzing up, felt the whole of her pelvis knotting together, her legs jittering as they fought to hold her up, Steven’s body taking the brunt of it as she all but fell into him, dragging his lips onto hers in a harsh, toothy kiss, her moans spilling onto his tongue, his fingers never halting or slowing in their circles.

“Fuck-” She cursed, the last of her pleasure seizing her body, ebbing and flowing away from her until the touch on her clit became too much and she grabbed his wrist desperately and pulled him away, “Steven,”

Fearing he had done it incorrectly, he pulled away as if burned, his free hand immediately freeing her waist to cup her cheek, eyes searching her face for signs of disappointment.

“Was that not it? Was that not right?” He whispered, face heating in regret, only to be met with a breathless smirk before she pulled him back towards her with a quick yank of his sweater.

She kissed him much sweeter this time, a worn out giggle weaving in between their lips, pulling away with dazed eyes that stared at him as if he’d handed her the entire universe in one go.

“That was perfect, Steven,” She said, pecking him again when he seemed unconvinced, “I’ve never been so happy as I am right now, here with you,”

“Neither have I,” He said, his gaze entirely dopey with love as he watched her breaths even out, lips twitching into a sweet smile as she stared back at him.

He wasn’t lying. He’d give her anything if she asked for it.

She seemed to snap out of their honey glazed daze, fingers fiddling with the somewhat softening pull at his trousers, her nail that had surprisingly not been mauled by her stress for a week or so, trailing over where his sensitive tip pressed at his leg, the sensation drawing in a breath from his chest once more.

“Wait,” He started, holding her wrist gently, pulling her hand up to his mouth where he gave her palm a gently kiss, “I want to just be here with you, we don’t have to do that,”

She smiled, though her eyes seemed incredulous that he would deny such an offer. She couldn’t say she was entirely surprised however, Steven had this way of proving her wrong about everything she worried he would be, had this way of making her feel ridiculous for ever expecting anything but softness from him.

“Don’t you want a turn?” She asked quietly, his nose brushing against hers gently as he shook his head, “I just want to make you happy,”

He pulled away then at those words, smiling at her disbelievingly, “If you think that didn’t make me happy, then you’re a very, very silly girl who needs convincing, I guess,”

Without giving her much room to reply, he grabbed her in for another searing kiss, before pressing small pecks all over her mouth sweetly.

“Don’t worry,” He said with a smirk and a mischievous twinkle in his otherwise soft brown eyes, “I’m more than happy to convince you over and over and over again once we get home,”

Her cheeks ached from the smile that grew at the thought of home, home for the two of them.

There was no place like home.

Taglists:

KNIGHT IN SOHO TAGLIST

@shirukitsune @s-u-t @ahookedheroespureheart @willowseason @imonmykneessir @acceptedbyace @broadwaytraaaaash @mythicalmo @stevenknightmarc @avery88 @fandombrackets @thelostlovedone @raythecomputerart @nyctophile-moon-child @unknownduck0 @emily-roberts @cheshirecat484 @lockleywife @strangeobsessed @thebestrouge @0bsessedwithfictionalcharacters @dumbhxeredrose @badbishsblog @jvexoxo @sxftie-mari @mythical-goth @cillmeslowly @wildwallflower24 @ameliashideout @moonsua1 @latenightcravingz @blackqueengold @jesfreedark @uncle-eggy @onefinnedwonder-fm

#marc spector x reader #steven grant x reader #marc spector fanfiction #marc spector imagine #moon knight x reader #moonknight imagine #moonknight x reader #steven grant fanfiction #steven grant smut #Marc Spector smut #not safe for minors

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leaentries · 1 year ago

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karma | quinn hughes

summary: sleeping with your best friend's boyfriend proves to bring major heartache, even if you broke things off. he was the man you weren't supposed to love, but karma has a funny way of working.

warnings: angsty themes, cheating, swearing, manipulation, gold-digging

wc: 2.4k+

a/n: surprise! here is my first quinn fic on a random thursday at 2:30am! I honestly didn't know where I was going with this when I started writing, but then I got carried away...

Karma. Was it real? Many people could beg to differ, however, in this moment… you felt the repercussions.

The sound of your cries echoed throughout the empty bathroom. Thunderous cheers muffled their way through the cement walls. The cool tiles pressed into your exposed legs as you sat on the ground. Sobs wracked through your worn body.

You asked for this, didn’t you?

The words you said to him rang in your ears. Those cruel and unregarding words. Yet, he needed to hear them.

❥.

“I want my life back, Quinn. My life before you.”

Your throat ached, your cheeks bright red with tears violently pouring down. Not that Quinn looked much better. This was the worst fight the two of you have ever had. All of the screaming, crying, cursing, it felt like it would never end. Although this was a long time coming, it still didn’t stop the bone-crushing pain that seeped its way into your heart. You knew you were gonna hurt him, but you also knew you had to. He was becoming too attached.

You both agreed when you started this fling it was only temporary. C’mon, how could a true relationship form when he was dating your best friend? He promised he wouldn’t fall for you, regardless of how shitty Bethany treated him. That was your reasoning, the only thing you could use to push away the heaving guilt of sleeping with your best friend’s boyfriend.

Still, karma always came around full circle.

And here it was, in the form of Quinn getting down on one knee in front of an arena full of people. The diamond glimmered in the bright lights, the flashes of cameras making it that much prettier. The look on his face was nothing short of love, but not for the girl in front of him, no, rather for the girl standing beside her. Bethany’s eyes filled with tears at the sudden proposal. Nodding her head “Yes” rapidly.

You felt suffocated, needing nothing more than to leave. You turned, making your way through the dense crowd, finding the nearest private staff bathroom.

❥.

This is where you remained until you were able to properly breathe again. In this moment, in this stupid bathroom, you found yourself praying the harsh words you told Quinn that night would become a reality. Alas, maybe sometimes karma isn’t always out to get you.

A knock sounded from the other side of the steel door. Standing, you used the wall to maintain your balance. You walked over, to unlock the door, forgetting to check your disheveled form in the mirror.

There was a sliver of hope that remained in your heart at the possibility of Quinn choosing you. You knew it was selfish, especially after you practically ripped his heart out when he told you he loved you. You gripped the handle, sucking in a quick breath. You opened the door slowly, only to be met with Bethany’s gleaming eyes. You looked down, shamefully filled with disappointment.

Bethany slightly shoved you out of the way, barging into the single room. You paused a moment, taking a beat to compose yourself before facing your best friend.

Turning around, you saw Bethany fixing her chestnut hair in the warped mirror. She looked so happy. And you felt so guilty.

Now even though Bethany wasn’t the most selfless person, or even the most caring, regardless you still felt the weight of what you and Quinn had hanging from your shoulders. She has been in your life since you moved to Vancouver 3 years ago. She was your very first friend and a betrayal like that was not easily forgiven.

“Y/n, I cannot believe he proposed! I mean, I honestly thought he was gonna break up with me, you know? Remember how I was telling you how he started getting super distant and his responses were super short? I guess it was just his nerves. God! I’m so excited to plan the wedding!” Bethany blabbered on and on about her new wedding plans and how great being married to Quinn was gonna be.

You tried to fake a smile, but the tears in your eyes were hard to ignore. Hell, even Bethany noticed.

“Are you okay? You have mascara running down your face.” She approached you, getting a closer look at your blotched face.

Her eyebrows furrowed in concentration. You were positive she was gonna see the guilt and sadness etched deep in your eyes.

“Awww, y/n/n! You’re crying out of happiness!” She brought you into a hug. You wrapped your arms around her loosely, troubled at her statement. Here, you were, clearly upset, and she couldn’t get over herself long enough to notice. That may be selfish and inconsiderate, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

Bethany quickly started up again, rambling on more. You stood, leaning against the wall barely paying attention to a single word that fell from her lips. That was until you heard her say, “I mean, shit, this relationship wasn’t even supposed to go this far.”

Your head snapped up, looking at Bethany through the mirror. “What do you mean, “wasn’t supposed to go this far?”

She turned towards you, “Back when we first started hanging out, you know, around the same time you moved here. Basically, Jacie had made a bet that I couldn’t bag a professional athlete. I told her to bite me and watch.” Anger flooded your veins, Quinn was just a bet to her?

The man who kissed every inch of your body and ran his hands over each divot in your skin. The man who practically begged you to love him back. The man who you let get away, just to spare the feelings of your so-called “best friend.”

“Originally it was just supposed to be a hit-and-run type of deal, but the poor dude latched on to me, and what can I say? I loved the attention. Now I’ll look even better with the Hughes’ name.” She finished with a satisfied smile.

Fury coursed through your entire body, you saw red. “You’re fucking using him?”

Bethany looked shocked at your tone. “I-I mean not, technically.”

“No. None of this technical bullshit, Bethany. Are you in love with him?”

The conflict was reflected in her features, “Love is a strong word, but I definitely care for him.”

You were in utter disbelief. To think you gave up the only man who you’ve ever truly loved to help the stranger standing in front of you. Your teeth ground together in anger. “Then why the fuck are you marrying him?”

Now it was her turn to get angry, “Because he asked me, y/n. Why the hell do you even care? It’s not like you are the one getting engaged to him.”

Even though she had no idea what went on between you and Quinn, her statement still felt like a deliberate punch to the gut. Yet, she was right. You weren’t the one he proposed to, you weren’t the one he chose. Except, you were.

❥.

“Please, y/n. Don’t lie to me. I know you love me too. You say the words and I’ll leave her. Just please, say something.” Quinn begged you. His chest heaving with panic and worry. He was scared to lose you.

You knew you couldn’t bear to hurt Quinn, but Bethany was your best friend and you couldn’t hurt her either. That is the only reason the following words left your mouth, the words that made Quinn drop everything and leave you that instant, never looking back.

“I’ve never loved you. I'm just sorry I let it go on for so long, I could have saved you some grief.”

❥.

You hurt Quinn for her, and for that, she could never be forgiven. “Why do I care? Oh, I don’t know, probably because you’re about to marry someone you don’t even love, Bethany. I mean do you even have a fucking brain? Why the actual fuck would you ever hurt someone like that? What are you gonna do if Quinn finds out that you’re using him? I bet you don’t even care. God, you are such a selfish bitch. I can’t believe I hurt Quinn for you.”

Bethany stood in silence for a moment, taking in everything you said to her. To your surprise, she didn’t yell back. Her voice remained stoic, “I figured. You just proved my theory. You know, it’s really rich. You standing there calling me a selfish bitch when you were the one sleeping with my boyfriend.”

You immediately attempted to deny, not for your own sake, but Quinn’s. However, Bethany cut you off, “Shut your fucking mouth. I had suspicions you two were hooking up. I mean, c’mon no one becomes that close that quickly. And the way Quinn looked at you? I’m surprised he didn’t fuck you in the middle of the room to claim your ass. He never looked at me like that. So yeah, I said yes to his proposal because for once he chose me, not you, me.”

She walked closer to you, her face remained still, voice stern, “But don’t worry, I’ll take care of him when he’s in my bed instead.” She flashed her ring at you, “Except, this isn’t temporary. It’s forever” She whispered the last part.

Bethany took one last glimpse in the mirror before grabbing her bag and leaving the bathroom without sparing you another look.

You slowly sink back down to the floor, a new round of sobs shaking your body. The feeling of finally losing Quinn was too much for your knees to hold up. You clawed at your chest, the undeniable pain making it hard to breathe.

❥.

You eventually gathered yourself up and left the bathroom. Planning on making a b-line to the back door and straight to your car, you didn’t bother to fix the redness of your skin or the blatant mascara still running down your cheeks.

Walking at a brisk pace, you weren’t completely paying attention to where you were going. You didn't think to look up until you were met with a solid body almost knocking you over with the collision.

There they were, those gorgeous eyes that brought you so much joy, yet so much heartache. The eyes that belong to the man you weren’t supposed to love. Quinn picked up on your distressed state instantly. He had always been able to read your cues.

“What’s wrong, y/n?’ His voice was distant like he was trying not to get swept into you. Quinn knew the second he reopened that wound, there was no shutting it. That’s one of the reasons he decided to propose to Bethany. It was a feeble attempt to keep you out; To pretend you never existed.

This proved to be harder than he thought. Everywhere Quinn went he saw you, saw things that reminded him of you. He knew it was wrong to be so consumed by you, but he couldn’t help it.

Quinn snapped back into focus when you shook your head, trying to get out of his hands that rested on your arms. “I’m fine, Quinn.” You hesitated to say his name, which didn’t go unnoticed by him. He removed his hands with a slight wince, clearly still sore over your rejection.

Yet, something came over him. He wanted the truth. If he was marrying Bethany, the least he deserves is some truth from you. Quinn grabbed your arm once more, leading you into a side room, quickly shutting and locking the door.

“What the hell?” You exclaimed, not happy with the current situation. “Let me out, Quinn.”

He crossed his arms, blocking the door with his toned body. “Give me the truth, Y/n. Why are you crying?” Quinn would be lying if he said he wasn’t hoping the reason was because of his engagement. Even if he didn’t want to admit it, Quinn still loved you.

“It’s nothing, really,” Trying to come up with an excuse, you became desperate, “I am just super overwhelmed at work and it’s just taking a toll, I guess.” You were confident in your answer, it was simple enough and believable. There was no way he wouldn’t believe it.

“You’re lying. You are on vacation right now. Y/n, I’m being serious. Tell. me. The. truth. I am so sick of all the lies and deceit. Give me something, please.” His begging only made your feelings worse. He didn’t know how badly you wanted to tell him you loved him. It would be so easy.

Maybe that’s why you decided to throw out all logic and be selfish. You deserved to be selfish. “Fine, Quinn. You want the truth? I’m in love with you. I always have been. I lied to you that night, all those awful, fucked up things I said. They were all lies.” Saying it out loud brought a euphoric sense of relief.

Quinn was rendered speechless. He was filled with anger, confusion, but most of all: love. The girl he loved most finally loved him back. He searched your face for any signs of uncertainty. Finding none, he stepped towards you.

“Say that again.” He demanded.

You looked at him confused. “Wha-” He cut you off.

“Tell me you love me. Please, for the love of god, tell me you love me.”

Mustering up more courage, you spoke more defined this time, “I am in love with you, Quinn Hughes. And there is nothing that could ever change that.”

Quinn cupped your face, pulling your lips to meet his in a blaze. The anger, fear, and love were all present as you gripped onto his bicep. The kiss got heated quickly, Quinn backing you against the opposite wall. Your mouths met in a clash of teeth and tongue, desperate to feel each other again. When you eventually pulled away, you both took a moment, basking in the feeling of holding the other. The restless nights of longing were finally over. All the sneaking around and guilt was pushed aside.

Quinn was the first to break the silence, “I’m gonna go end things with Bethany.” You met his eyes. He brought his hands back up, wiping away some of the stray makeup. “Even with runny mascara and messy hair, you’re beautiful.”

For the first time that day, you truly smiled. The pain in your chest was gone, replaced with an undeniable warmth. As Quinn placed one last kiss on your lips and left to go end his engagement, you realized something.

Karma really does have a way of coming back full circle.

#quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes #quinn hughes x chubby!reader #vancover canucks #nhl x reader #quinn hughes imagine #quinn hughes blurb #quinn hughes fic #jack hughes #luke hughes #leawrites🍀

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ewingstan · 3 months ago

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On the End of Claw, pt 1.

So this is gonna cover my thoughts on Claw's final three chapters. I don't think Claw's ending was especially bad, but I do think it picked an odd note to end on, and had to contort itself awkwardly to even reach that note in the first place in a way that really hurt its execution. In this part, I'm gonna talk about the structural problems around Claw's ending. In the next part, I'll focus on the last chapter and Mia's "trial."

Its been noted that Mia has some character similarities to Taylor in terms of a willingness to act ruthlessly and without apparent remorse. Perhaps as a result, it seems like Wildbow wanted to give Mia a similar ending to Taylor: a space where she attempts to explain herself, confront everything she's done, and consider whether it was worth it. It feels like a dark echo of Taylor's talk with Contessa; giving her an unfair audience rather than one who acted much the same way, but similarly wanting the ending note to be her concluding that she her ruthless actions weren't all worth it to her.

But if that was the intent, the surrounding structure of Claw ensured that it wouldn't land nearly as well. Worm's ending is such that its climax perfectly sets up its Taylor's conversation with Contessa. After all, the climax was Taylor doing something truly awful to a lot of people for the greater good—what she'd been doing the entire book, but brought to its most extreme point. It made sense to follow that up with an exploration of whether it was worth it—the book had been asking if what Taylor was doing was "worth it" the whole time, and it was an especially relevant question when applied to Gold Morning.

Compare this to Claw, and the way the ending focused on Mia asking whether or not she was monstrous. That had certainly been a question brought up by many characters throughout the whole story. But unlike Worm, it wasn't a question that was a relevant consideration in the wake of the climax. As the story presented us with the final confrontation of our leads against Davie Cavalcanti, we'd largely moved past the question of whether Mia was monstrous. Sure, Natalie was still concerned with it, but that was framed as a flaw that was preventing her from helping Ripley.

In fact, the thematic stuff surrounding the treatment of Ripley had really superseded anything surrounding Mia's "essential nature" as the key thing to explore. Ripley getting taken by Natalie and ripped away from her happy life got framed by the narrative as the same sort of violation as her later abduction and mutilation by Davie. Natalie's development all centered on her considering Ripley's needs as a person over her status as Natalie's daughter. Ben's chapters had largely been about how his worldview, a belief in the necessity of preserving the parental role, requires him to ignore incongruous observations about how children are harmed when that role is exercised. The permissibility of Mia's actions are still floating around as a theme, but its only a small part of the now much larger theme of deconstructing the parent relationship, and the moral weight of Ripley's agency. Addressing those themes directly (which 6.5 is partially concerned with, if not 6.6) would thus better serve as a satisfactory cap to the climax.

Mia's moral character, in contrast, was not a particularly relevant aspect by the time we reach the end. That becomes clear when you see how much 6.5 had to redirect things to make the question even relevant. In this regard, that penultimate chapter feels like the real weak point in the execution of Claw's finale. Its little substance, all connective tissue, and suffers a lot from none of those connections getting fleshed out. Natalie's revolving heel-face-heel positioning is a big part of this: It's strange to go from her characterization in the second half of 6.4—recognizing that hasn't been prioritizing Ripley's well-being and making a big sacrificial play in response—to her characterization in 6.5, where she's threatening to damn Ripley's chance at a normal life simply to get at Mia. Its a beat that's needed to push Mia towards making the mistake that gets her caught, but because of how it seems to contradict her earlier growth, it doesn't feel like anything more than a a plot-necessity.

The frustrating thing is that I think Natalie's "regression" could have been executed well. After all, its one thing for Natalie to decide to selflessly help Ripley and make a sacrificial play. But after unexpectedly surviving, the difficulty of continually making the smaller everyday sacrificial plays of working with Mia—that's something else entirely. The singular grand gesture is always easier to make than the prolonged effort.

But to sell that Natalie couldn't handle this larger, continued sacrifice, you'd probably need another chapter in her perspective. Let us stew in Natalie seeing that she was still losing Ripley even after everything, see how its more difficult to sacrifice something if she has to live with it missing from her life afterwards. Without that—without anything to explain the jump in her attitude from 6.4 to 6.5—it feels more like Natalie is just behaving however she needs to for the story to reach the intended conclusion.

(Which you know, she is. They all are, that's what characters do in stories. Its not bad for them to behave in ways that serve to drive the plot forwards rather than be perfect simulations. But their behavior still need verisimilitude, dammit.)

Mia, meanwhile, gets the almost self-parodying beat of going for one last child-napping. Again, I think this could work if it was built up more—have her ask herself whether she'd made things worse by helping Ben use the Civil Warriors against the Cavalcantis, wonder about whether she has a responsibility to do anything about it. Have her worry about the kid she rescued from the gunfire—was it wrong to just return her to her parents, when they'd brought her to a race riot? Isn't that much more irresponsible than leaving her in a hot car? Instead, we learn she was doing this only after a chapter of seeing her worry about Ripley drifting away, its explanation coming in conjunction with her explaining her plan to get Ripley away from Natalie. The framing implies that she only acted in order to retain the image of herself as a mother saving children from dangers. It makes sense to position that as a non-trivial part of her motivation, but framing it as the main motivation honestly feels like a disservice to her character.

Again, both these plotpoints could have worked if executed better. But then, what were they executed in service for? Clumsily delivering Mia to her character trial, when the themes driving the story had developed past such a trial feeling relevant.

Still, we have the trial. And there were parts of it I thought were very well-executed for what it was. But the "what-it-was" has issues even above what I covered here.

Continued in part 2.

#clawblr #wildbow #mals says #mals reads claw

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fmet · 1 year ago

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I always go back to that moment in 206 when Eunyung has just left his family home for the last time and he calls out to Haejoon and Juwan, but there’s no answer. They had to leave, and Eunyung realized that for however long, he had been experiencing that confrontation with his dad (and mother) essentially without allies. Everything that he had done and said, with the perceived security of knowing there were people in the other side of that door who could hear them, was suddenly reassessed under a vulnerable and isolated lens, rather than a secure and supported one. He soon learns afterward that they were forced to leave by security because they were accused of loitering, but the gap in time that he probably spent thinking they left of their own free will while he was facing off his parents isn’t something that can be easily coped with.

Eunyung “saved” himself from his parents, and it wouldn’t have been as immediately liberating as it had been for him if someone else had forced that separation. But the adjacent people in his life that he (at least previously) saw as a support network and frame of reference for normal/abnormal relationships are just as invaluable as his own introspection and bravery during this arc.

His being taken care of by Juwan and Haejoon, where he has soup bought for him and he’s chauffeured around; his conversation with Marie, where he gets to witness the ramifications of domestic abuse as an outsider; and the countless conversations he had with Haejoon over this arc, where Haejoon insists to him that what he was and is going through is abnormal. By getting to sympathize with a fellow abuse survivor and by growing adjusted to having people like Haejoon advocate for him, he develops the beginning of an expectation that he can be understood and supported by these people. Not only that, but that he should be, or at least it’s something that he should strive for when given the opportunity. This perceived support ultimately culminated in him being able to say the things he did to his dad. He was the one who took that final step, there’s no denying the courage he displayed doing what he did, but it would have been impossible for him to focus this courage into a clear and aspired effort without getting a glimpse of what he had been missing growing up: predictable love and empathy.

Emphasis on predictable, because from what we know of Eunyung’s home life and the people that have supported him in the past, every ounce of love and grace he received was conditional and temporary. His abuse being unpredictable, the people who loved and supported him frequently withdrawing when they realize that he’s an actual person with idiosyncrasies and needs, and that advocating/caring for him takes real effort, and the defensive mindset needed to grow up in an abusive household would have warped his view of people’s rejection or acceptance regardless. Learning to expect that Juwan and Haejoon would be there when he needed them to be isn’t just unexpected of Eunyung: it’s juxtaposed to everything that he’s learned growing up on the streets. It’s probably only his being younger (i.e., more capable of change) that granted him the flexibility to expect care from someone again.

So, the realization that Haejoon and Juwan weren’t there when he thought they were dramatically shifted his perspective on their support, Haejoon’s in particular. Just after beginning to develop this alien expectation, something happens that allows him to dismiss it. Relying on these people in an emotional way has to be done very carefully, sparingly, in his mind, because at any moment, whether by freak chance or someone’s own animosity, lack of caring, etc, it could be ripped away from him. Similar to the unpredictablility of his father and mothers behavior, he approaches other people’s emotional states with the same fleetedness. If he can’t understand the way people think, if he can’t guarantee he’ll always be able to abide by their guidelines for humane treatment, or, now, if in Haejoon and Juwan’s case, he thinks his nature is incompatible with theirs, he will deliberately withdraw himself from them.

The same way he continues to reminisce and hold onto the haunted dorm as the visage of a fleeting home environment, he considers emotional homes such as Haejoon with that same impermanence. Only now, with concrete “proof” that it isn’t permanent, with Haejoon and Juwan not being there when Eunyung thought they would be, it’s much easier to distance from that emotional home as a way to protect himself. The title of “emotional home” can even be ascribed to inanimate objects and concepts: his childhood passion for theatre, his talent in cooking, his hairstyle. So many of the things he holds dear he is also deathly afraid of having. Having to decide between deprecative abstinence, fearing even more having lost it after experiencing it firsthand; versus reckless overindulgence, after experiencing loss in the past and thus losing the emotional sincerity he carries for something; summarizes a lot of his behavior, and it can especially be seen in the current arc. He holds off on signing up for theater until he’s racing against the clock (221), he deliberately distances himself from Haejoon and Juwan because he doesn’t consider himself as “adjusted” of a person as they are; but robs bald HR teacher dry when he takes him to eat and laughs at his efforts to connect with him. The latter being juxtaposed to his middle school-selfs response, because prior trauma from his middle school teacher jaded him to the concept of adults, and especially teachers, advocating for him unconditionally.

Eunyung’s deliberate absence from Haejoon’s life is both in his efforts to protect Haejoon’s body and to protect his own. In that same light, his hesitance in following his passions, while inadvertently mocking the systems of support he’s been betrayed by previously (teachers, parents, etc) are all in efforts to protect himself emotionally. If he never fails after trying, if he dismisses all outreach as insincere, if he’s never reminded of what he’s lost and how it hurt him, he doesn’t have to be hurt again. It looks like with the rest of this “Eunyung Baek Again” arc, we’ll probably witness more proof of this fleeting view of support/commiseration via this middle school teacher, portrayed in how he treats his high school HR teacher now. In the opposite vein, trying to actualize his passion for theatre (and being successful in doing so), seeing new and old people in his life advocate for him, and maybe even acknowledging that his HR teacher could be looking out for him, are just a few of the many details that could begin to deconstruct his emotional lines of defense. I’m not caught up with the spoiler chapters, but I hope (and really believe) that this will be the case.

#no home #no home manhwa #Eunyung baek #this has been in my drafts for almost a month I need to take it out #last paragraph is so shoddily written sorry😭😭😭#Eunyung deserves like a whole book written about him he’s so real

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restinslices · 1 year ago

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Liar Pt2

Me finally writing the part 2?! Wow! So this part is honestly filler. It's Matthias being in his own head and meeting Nina, who will become an ally. Imma be real, nothing happens BUT LISTEN- it's setting shit up. Have faith. Enjoy his mental crisis. Druskelle!Matthias Helvar x Heartrender!Wife!Reader (she does not make an apperance-) Word Count: 2059 Summary: Ever since you've left, Matthias has had conflicting thoughts about your relationship and it's driving him insane, but an unlikely friend makes him realize not all hope is lost. Y/N - Your Name D/N - Daughter Name Link to part 1

(Lowkey should've used this gif for part 1 and part1's for this, but rip)

“Dear my love and life,

I don’t know what to say. Maybe I should say sorry again for the whatever thousandth time. I never know how to start these, so I always say I’m sorry. I wish Djel gave me the power to go back in time and fix the mistakes I’ve made. I wish I could go back and hug you when you told me about you being Grisha, instead of pushing you away. I wish I would’ve held you and told you I’d forever love you instead of calling you a witch. I wish when I woke up, I had my wife beside me and my daughter in the room next to ours. I have lots of wishes, and since I can’t change the past, I have a wish that’s selfish and cruel.

I wish you both were dead. I wish that the Druskelle had found and killed you two, or all of you instead of just Elise and Erik.

I know I sound terrible, but not knowing where you are or how you are hurts more than you two being dead. I wish that one day, I’m sitting at home and someone comes in to say they found and killed you both.

Am I a bad person for thinking this? I’ve heard rumors about other countries. I’ve heard Ravka trains their children for war. I’ve heard Shu Han does terrible experiments on Grisha. I’ve heard in The Wandering Isle that the Kaelish kill Grisha so they can drink their blood. I’ve heard in Kerch, Grisha are put under contracts and basically become slaves. I’d rather you be dead than go through any of that.

My love, you remember the day I proposed to you. I know you do. What you don’t know is that the night before I did so, I sat outside for hours. I couldn’t possibly sleep when I was terrified about what I was gonna do. I saw a star that shined brighter than the others, and for some reason, I thought it could be Djel watching over me. I prayed and begged Djel to convince you to say yes, and you did.

Maybe that’s what I’m doing wrong. Maybe I’m too busy wishing, instead of praying, but I haven’t felt like praying in so long. Maybe if I find that star again, he’ll hear me better like he did the first time. Maybe I’ll get another chance and we’ll all run away. Maybe-”

“Anything going on up there?” the Grisha woman asked.

Matthias found himself writing a lot since you left. Not in some diary though. He’d write letters to you and his daughter, then throw them in the fireplace and watch it be engulfed in flames.

At first the letters were angry and full of betrayal. You lied to him for years. You used him. That’s what he thought at first.

It had been days and you hadn’t been caught. He happened to have paper and ink around him, so he wrote this letter filled with insults, profanities and accusations, then he threw it in the fireplace. Although he wrote all this down, about how you were a liar and a witch, he didn’t go with the druskelle to try and capture you. Others assumed that your “witchcraft” made him still feel sick, but in reality, Matthias knew deep down that if he saw you he wouldn’t be able to take the shot. He would’ve been expected to either kill or capture his ex wife and child and he knew he couldn't. You were his love, and once your daughter was born, you both promised each other to make her number one in your lives. You’d raise her with love and guidance and make sure she never knew a lonely day. You even promised each other that if one was to die, the other had to keep going everyday even if they didn’t want to. You both promised to make her your whole life. Now he was expected to forget all about that. He wanted to forget all about you, but he couldn’t.

His letters went from angry to pleading. Sometimes his letters would be destroyed by his own tears before it even reached the fire. This especially happened whenever an important date passed, like your daughter’s birthday. It hit him hard then. The loneliness became more apparent. Matthias had quit being a Druskelle, telling Brum some bullshit about how his head still didn’t feel right and he didn’t want to mess something up. In reality, being a Druskelle didn’t feel right anymore. His brothers gave him sympathy, saying you were evil and he was strong for realizing this and breaking out of your spell, but it didn’t make sense. When people look back at their memories with a manipulator or abuser, they notice signs. They see things they didn’t see before. And while Matthias did indeed notice signs that you were Grisha, he didn’t see any signs of evil.

Matthias knew you even before his family was killed, and you stood by him as he mourned. You stayed even when he was sure you’d leave. How could you possibly be evil? It didn’t make sense.

Matthias doesn’t know why he accepted Brum’s offer to go on another exploration. Maybe it was loneliness. He had practically isolated himself for two years. No more you. No more D/N. No more brotherhood.

Or maybe he was hoping somehow they’d find you and he’d be able to escape with you.

Either way, he accepted. A mistake.

The boat ended up sinking and Matthias was sure he’d die, until he suddenly felt his heart speeding up in his chest. When he came to, he realized one of the Grisha, a heartrender with brown hair and a smart mouth, had saved him. Granted, it was just so he could push them to shore, but at least he was breathing.

They found a hut, slept by each other, and that’s when he realized two things.

Number one, your wedding ring, which he always kept in his pocket, was gone.

Number two, when the woman sped his heart up so he stayed warm, it felt familiar. It was how he felt when he laid next to you. He always assumed that maybe his heart beat so fast because being near you was the greatest honor and he hadn’t gotten used to it. He’d still say that was true, but the reality was that you used your power to keep him warm every single night. If he hadn’t been around someone, he might’ve cried.

He heard fingers snapping next to his ear. “Druskelle? Anyone up there?”.

Matthias blinked hard to snap himself out of his thoughts, then cleared his throat. His eyes had been on the fire in front of him the whole time, as if he could burn his letter like he usually did. He looked to the side as the woman sat next to him. He couldn’t even remember what they were talking about.

It was as if she read his mind since next she said, “you were telling me all about Fjerdan woman then you stopped. Hoping one appears?”.

“Yes” he answered without thinking.

~~~

Matthias refused to answer any of her questions. In all honesty, she was annoying him. She was incredibly nosey and kept insisting they were lost, but they couldn’t have been lost because Druskelle didn’t get lost! All trees look the same! Rocks look the same! A certain patch of snow looked the same as other patches of snow!

They were lost. Dammit.

Matthias sat on a big rock with a flat top in defeat. What good was being alive if they were just gonna freeze to death?

The woman sat next to him, “I’m gonna ask a few questions if you don’t mind”.

“I do mind”.

“What’s your name? I like ‘Dumb Druskelle’ but surely you were born with something else. Todd? A Kevin maybe? James?”. Matthias hated she gave the same comfort a friend would. It was strange. He didn’t know her, but he had been so lonely that he enjoyed having someone else near. And if he was gonna die, he wouldn’t mind dying with someone else.

Although Matthias was silent, she kept going. “Who’s back home for you?”.

“No one” he thought.

The woman pulled something out of one of her pockets and presented it to him. It was your wedding ring, the one he thought probably sunk to the bottom of the ocean. Before he could speak she said “I grabbed it before it sunk too far. Figured I could use it as leverage to make you get us to shore, but you agreed before I could”. Matthias took it and since no one he knew was around, he put it back on.

Some people prefer the feeling of a weight lifting off of them, but he preferred the weight the ring added to his finger even if it wasn’t that huge of a change. The woman was still looking at him then he had an idea. If she was Ravkan and you ran there, maybe she knew you! He asked her if he knew a woman fitting your description with a child that had recently came to Ravka. When she said she was usually in and out of the palace, but had gotten a letter from a friend who mentioned a new Grisha with a child he felt conflicted. On one hand, this could’ve been you and this meant you were safe. On the other hand, this meant his daughter was probably being trained to become a soldier for whatever other war Ravka would join.

She made a sarcastic remark, asking if he had been hunting this woman also and she happened to get away. He spilled his guts then. He told her everything. How you met, how you were always there for him, how you fell in love, your marriage, your child, the incident, him turning on you. All of it. It felt amazing to say out loud to someone else.

“You had an incredible wife but chased her and your child away? Remember when I said there was a brain inside all that muscle? I lied”. He didn’t argue. What was the point? “What would you do if you managed to see her or your child again?”.

He thought about this every night and he still didn’t know. He’d apologize but what then? Let you go? Beg for another chance? What if you had met someone else by now? “I don’t know” he answered honestly “but I’d beg for as long as she wanted me to”.

“You do realize that you were gonna kill more Grisha on that boat right?”

“You would go on trial”

“Your trials are a sham, we’ve been over this. The loneliness won’t end by becoming a Druskelle again. You and I both know it”. Matthias went quiet again as he thought. He hated she was nosey, he hated that everything that came out her mouth was sarcastic or said with an attitude, but more importantly

He hated she was right.

“I have known one way my entire life. I don’t know how to be anything else. I… I don’t know if I can be better”.

“It’s possible” she said. She stood and moved so she was in his view. “Get on your feet-”. It all happened so quick then. She backed up, then all Matthias heard was the ground crumbling and her screams. He dived down, catching her hands.

She pleaded for Matthias to pull her up and for a split second, he thought he’d let her fall.

He refused to turn his back on anyone else though.

He pulled her up and let her catch her breath on the ground. After a few seconds, he stood with his hand outstretched, “Matthias… Helvar”.

She took his hand and let him help her to her feet. “Nina Zenik. Nice to make your acquaintance”. Matthias draped one of the fur coverings he was wearing on her shoulders then they started walking again.

“You saved my life”

“I put you in chains. It was the least I could do”.

“That’s all very true, but I was going to say something before I fell”. Nina grabbed his arm, making him stop and look at her.

“I’m going to help you find your family”.

A/N: I need to stop deciding to write at 11pm-. Anyway, did anything really happen this part? No. Lowkey this should say part 1.5 but that looks ugly so here we are. I will not procrastinate for another two months, I promise. Also I remembered that Matthias is 18 and ya'll kid is 10, so uhhh let's say the kid is 6 and ya'll are mid twenties. Imma edit the last part too, don't even worry. I think part 3 will be the last part unless I decide it's too long and split it. Taglist: @luvrrish @katie-the-bookworm @favouritefeverdream (Idk if you wanted to be tagged, but you commented so imma do it anyway)

#matthias helvar x reader #matthias helvar x you #matthias helvar x y/n #matthias helvar #matthias helvar oneshot #shadow and bone #shadow and bone oneshot #shadow and bone imagine #matthias helvar imagine #six of crows #grishaverse #shadow and bone x reader #six of crows x reader #i am so down bad for him

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crooked-wasteland · 1 year ago

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Oops: Rushing to Catharsis, Dodging Accountability

There is much to be said about the latest episode of Helluva Boss, and it is a bit of a tragedy that the animatic release felt like a more complete version of the episode than the actual finished product. From losing out on the visual intensity of Fizzarolli's injuries to the complete erasure of Barbie in the background of the disaster, it feels like these small changes removed the visceral intensity of the scene and its repercussions. Especially as Barbie is now the obvious point of conflict in Blitz's storyline, it feels like the impact of that part of the story is now devalued by her absence.

But that is hardly the end of the issues at play.

Medrano and her team rushed this story arc.

There are clear parallels to Bojack's two major story beats of Bojack abandoning Herb and the Sugarman Summer Home season arc. It is obvious that Blitz and Fizzarolli have a relationship paralleling that of Herb and Bojack in season one. However, Medrano pulls back in a multitude of ways and fails to commit the plot to a natural conclusion. While Herb rejects Bojack due to the fact that the latter never came to check up on him following his public disgrace and outing, Blitz is absolved of even that.

In the Bojack episode, Herb makes it clear that he doesn't blame his old friend for not standing with him when he was removed from Horsing Around. While he may have been upset at one time, he had cooled off and recognized that if the studio had let them both go, that would have been terrible for both of them.

Rather, it was Bojack assuming Herb's desires and thus avoiding his best friend for years under the belief that he had betrayed Herb so completely that the other wouldn't want to see him anyway. Bojack's insecurity was his own undoing in that relationship, even though it showed that both Herb and Bojack were still very compatible friends. Bojack's background of conditional relationships from his own parents set the groundwork for his hyperavoidant personality and how allowing generational trauma to dictate your relationships in life is a good way to lose everyone you ever hope to keep.

Here, Blitz didn't abandon Fizzarolli. Skipping to the end, Blitz was kept from seeing Fizz in the hospital by a currently unknown third party. Which removes his flaws on a fundamental level. While one could argue ripping off the storyline wholesale would have been just as bad, at least it wouldn't feel like a fanfiction retelling of that Bojack episode. It feels like Medrano had a very negative opinion of Herb and how he rejected Bojack and that this reiteration with her own characters is her way of "fixing" that relationship. At the same time, what Blitz ended up doing is far and above worse than Bojack simply not risking his career.

The episode takes the sequence as dark as they'd dare, Fizzarolli crawling out of the explosion as his body burns and disintegrates. The show really does want to bank itself on the emotional impact this sequence should have, picturing how afraid Fizz must be. The amount of pain he would be in as his mangled body turns to ash as he forces himself from the fire. His flesh melted, his horns seared red and glowing like it would if they were made of real keratin, his bones themselves falling apart as he forced his body to escape the disaster. And he calls out to the one person he held such admiration for, his best friend since they were kids, who turns his back on him and runs.

And somehow, that is not the reason the relationship has become so bitter and vile. Not because Fizzarolli, most likely believing he was going to die, watched his best friend run away and "save himself" (from Fizz's perspective), leaving him to die alone in this calamity. It's because Blitz never came to talk to him. And even then, it wasn't Blitz's fault.

While that reveal worked for Bojack and Herb, it doesn't actually work for when a character almost actually loses their life. The figurative end of the world that comes with losing a job you love and a creative passion project stolen and bastardized can not begin to amount to the physical act of dying. That is actually the entire point of Herb's story as well, why Bojack's initial betrayal is forgivable, but his avoidance was not. It's because what felt like the end of life in the moment didn't actually end anything substantial for Herb. He still lived a full and complete life, minus his best friend who left him to rebuild on his own. And you can not, in fact, make up for lost time.

Speaking of comparisons, the dialogue of this sequence in particular feels quite off-putting. Blitz's line of "You have e no idea what I lost in that fire" is accusatory and draws up a direct comparison to what each character lost. Fizzarolli is physically scarred by the events as well as mentally and emotionally. Horns are shown to be a source of social pride for imps, adding self-esteem and identity to the list of things Fizz lost in the disaster. But because it is implied that Blitz's mother actually did die in the fire, that is a tragedy somehow beyond belief for someone like Fizzarolli. It would be safe to assume that Tilla's death would have been felt by everyone who survived the circus, or at the least for the kids. The dialogue sets up a divide that somehow Blitz watching how his careless moodiness almost killed his crush is not at the top of the list of traumas Blitz has to sort through from this sequence is hard to believe.

Speaking of crush.

And that gets to why this episode as a whole fails to work on a fundamental level. For what it is, what it wants to be, and what it is trying to set up, this episode consistently drops the ball. It is confounding to think that Medrano believed that the relationship for Stolas and Blitz was for more necessary to show than this.

This episode should have been a flashback.

The entire episode should have been the lead up to the disaster. Show us the relationship of Blitz and Barbie and Fizzarolli. Show us the way Blitz is treated by others at the circus even as he ages.

Show us Tilla for five minutes for the love of everything meaningful. It's so hard to believe this should be important to the characters or story when we are given nothing concrete about who Tilla was as a person or mother. We lived the flashbacks of Bojack, no matter how short a snippet they were. We experienced Beatrice's callous nature or his father's self-centered abuse. For as important as she is implied to be, Tilla is not so important as to be an active participant in the story.

At the end of all this, I believe that the greatest issues boil down to a set list

- Characters do not have any lasting responsibility to the situation, their actions or the outcome.

- Somehow a character like Tilla who has never been seen and lacks any personality outside of early Steven Universe Rose Quartz perfection is a loss that is elevated over the trauma we are allowed to very distantly experience in Fizzarolli's monologue.

- The fact that we still have no idea about who any of these characters were to appreciate the sense of loss that this episode was supposed to supply.

- Fizzarolli and Blitz make up completely by the end of a single episode.

- The lack of buildup to the disaster causes confusion as to why it ever happens. Blitz throwing the confession letter on the ground and walking away has no rhyme or reason to it.

This episode is a literal laundry list of bad choices and poor structuring. When a school teacher writes in the margin, "Show, don't tell," this is what they are talking about.

#helluva boss critical #helluva boss criticism #helluva boss critique #vivienne medrano #vivziepop #helluva boss #vivziepop critical #vivziepop criticism #vivziepop critique #spindlehorse criticism #spindlehorse critical #here is the real one #pacing who she #i accidentally posted my rough draft

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tragedybunny · 9 months ago

Text

To Make You Feel My Love - Chapter 1 of 3

༺Summary༻

Astarion and Serafina continue to pursue their relationship as the confrontation with Cazador looms, and then during the fallout afterward. A couple of chapters that explore their deepening bond and their struggle to build "something real".

༺Pairing༻ Astarion x Serafina (Female Tav/OC)

༺Warnings༻ Angst, Hurt / Comfort, Attempted Sex

༺Word Count༻ 2776

༺A/N༻ Another fic featuring my Tav as a name character! Very excited to share more of Serafina. Thanks to my lovely friend @icybluepenguin for the beta and support!

Read on AO3

Astarion was a wretch, and he knew it. He was finicky, selfish, obnoxious, and difficult. But he also knew so much of that was because of life under Cazador. It was who he was outside of that life that he didn't know. He wasn't sure how to find out, either, or how much he wanted to.

He’d expected it to be asked of him though, that eventually he should find a way to make himself more palatable. Serafina never did though. Sometimes it stuck in his throat like bile how kind she was to him. She never asked anything of him, only gave and gave, while he took and took, with gentle words and warm smiles until sometimes he worried there would be nothing left of her.

It drove him mad, for several reasons. First, he was convinced that one day that fount of affection and understanding would run dry. She couldn’t love him as he was forever. Then there was the sensation that he somehow needed to repay it, even if it was never asked of him. Maybe it would balance the scales, maybe it would keep her from tiring of him. No matter what she claimed, she must expect something of him. Finally, and most strangely for him, he wanted to repay it. Didn’t she deserve it, after everything? And she most assuredly needed it.

Despite her protests that everything was always fine and that she didn’t need anything extra, he knew different. It was ridiculous. He’d seen her going through days with tired eyes, giving smiles that only lasted as long as they needed to, and the way her shoulders would slump when things would upset her, but she wouldn’t say anything.

Like earlier today, when he’d opened his mouth and ruined everything again.

Flowers. That’s how it had all started. They’d passed through a garden in full bloom, and words had tumbled out of him before he could think.

“Bright and gaudy.”Inane prattle, complaining about something that had no effect on him simply because he could. He just had to lash out at something.

Cazador was looming over him, the plan already in place to take the fight to him sooner rather than later. His siblings' surprise visit the night before had spurred that decision. Fear gnawed its way into his mind, biting and clawing, ripping away the fragile sense of safety and comfort he'd built.

That didn't change the fact that when Karlach's elbow had collided with his ribs, he'd looked over to see Sera's shoulders drooping and her mood soured. How could he forget about one of the few things she’d let slip about her home. She couldn't reveal much about her past thanks to that pesky warlock pact, but there had been a garden of some sort. And he'd managed to shit on what she had. He was already terrified and he felt himself spiraling back into the thought that he didn’t know why she bothered with him.

“What should I do?” he whispered desperately to Karlach.

She shrugged. “I don’t know, buy her flowers or something?”

Which is how he’d ended up here. Everyone had made their way back to the Elfsong but Astarion had excused himself with a hasty lie about needing to think. Sera’s brow had crinkled in concern for him and he felt a twinge of guilt when he pulled her close and gave her a quick kiss. He’d make it up later, or he planned to anyway.

But now he was stuck, wandering around this shop that was an overwhelming riot of color and scents. Something about cut flowers didn't seem to fit, and he'd been paralyzed in front of the rows and rows of them for minutes. They looked nice enough, but they wouldn't last. His gaze wandered to the other side of the shop through the crowd. Maybe a potted plant…?

“Can I help you?” A bubbly elf with blonde hair and tan skin appeared beside him.

Her gold eyes looked up at him with such sincerity, he almost sneered. As if this shop contained some life changing secrets and not flowers.

“I…” He cleared his throat- he was not lost, just thinking. “I’m looking for something for my partner. Something that will last longer than flowers in a vase.” There, that wasn’t so bad, he could do this.

“Of course, let me show you our selection of potted plants,” she said, gesturing enthusiastically. “Can you tell me a bit about them?”

“She, well, she… ” Why was this so hard? He felt so much for her, but speaking of her made him feel awkward and inadequate. She was the first warm light of morning washing over him and a comforting touch in the night. She was a hasty kiss after a hard won fight, and lighthearted laughter around the campfire. “She’s…”

“Newer relationship?” the elf said with a light giggle that made him want to reach for a dagger. The insinuation that he knew nothing about Sera was clear.

“What does it matter anyway,” he hissed, drawing looks from the other patrons.

The girl was thrown off balance by his sudden aggression and her gleaming smile faltered. “It might help to pick out something she’d like, but you’re free to browse for a while.” Turning away, she disappeared into the crowd, leaving him to fend for himself.

He almost went after her, but stubborn pride rooted him to the spot. With resolve, he eyed the shelves in front of him. Rows of bright-colored, glazed pots gleamed in the sunlight streaming in from the large shop window. Inside each one, a scrap of greenery he knew nothing about. Many had small blooms, some sported colorful leaves, and none of them were the right thing.

He began to sink into despair. This whole thing had been a stupid, impetuous idea. “Buy her flowers.” Apparently he couldn't even figure out the most basic of gifts for her. He'd just head back to the Elfsong, empty-handed, another day the scales between them were left uneven. If he just left now, it would be less time wasted.

Just as he turned to go, it caught his eye. A delicate plant in a pot glazed in the colors of twilight, with a few small, blue blossoms. He stepped closer, drawn to it. The rich blue was the same color as Sera's eyes, he was sure of it. But it was tiny, like it would hardly survive the trip across town if the wind picked up.

“Find something?” The irritating clerk was back, somehow having snuck up on him.

“That one,” he pointed.

“Oh, the little forget-me-not!”

Astarion cringed at the name as she reached for it.

“Do you know the origin of it?”

Of course not. It was a flower and before now, he wasn't exactly able to frolic in the sun and enjoy them. And it wasn’t like they were part of Cazador’s decor scheme.

“No,” he said through gritted teeth, sure he was about to hear it. He should have just stolen it.

“Humans didn’t come into being until long after elves. During those times, elves only coupled with one another, only knew lovers that would live as long as they did. But, eventually, an elven man met a human woman, and they fell deeply in love. The elf stayed by her side, even as she grew old and died, having only lived a fraction of his life. He buried her in winter and when he returned to her grave in the spring, he found these beautiful blue flowers had grown up over it. They were nothing like anything that anyone had ever seen before. They spread from her grave throughout the land, so that wherever he went, he was reminded of her. In that way, they earned the name forget-me-not. What a beautiful tragedy- a love so true, but one will live without the other for so long.” She sighed dreamily after she finished.

Astarion swallowed the lump in his throat. “Right, well, that's lovely and all, but I have somewhere to be.”

The elf huffed and silently led him back to the counter. He'd pay double if it meant she'd let him go without more chatter.

“Oh, one more thing,” she said, taking his money, “this can be planted outdoors. Perhaps if you and your lady love have a place of your own someday.”

Those words swirled around and around in Astarion’s mind as he gingerly carried the little plant back through the streets to the Elfsong. “A place of their own.” As if that was something he could even begin to aspire to. But why not? Why couldn’t he and Sera have a home of their own, and a happy, beautiful life? Because that wasn’t him. Who would want a vampire for a neighbor? And why would she want a lifetime with one?

He took a deep breath and tried to silence those thoughts. Sera loved him. He knew that was true, even when it was hard to remember. He just had to keep it that way. His eyes glanced down to the plant nestled in his hands. It seemed a silly gesture in that light, a plant in exchange for her love. The whole thing was a bad idea.

He should have done better.

When he finally made it back, the rest of the group was eating dinner in the raucous common room of the inn. He’d never admit it, but sometimes he missed the quiet nights under the stars. For two hundred years, he’d known this type of hustle and bustle; its opposite had grown on him. Not to mention, it had given the two of them so many calm nights to get to know each other. A thought that caused his chest to tighten; he’d thrown so many of those nights away with his “perfect plan”, time he’d never get back.

Cutting through the fringes of the room, he avoided the group, not wanting a public display of what was likely the most ridiculous gift he could have thought of. Natural stealth let him blend into the crowd and slink his way to the stairs. Bad luck put Jahiera right in front of him.

“Bat pup, what are you up to, creeping around like this?” From her tone, Jahiera was only really half suspicious.

“I…” He glanced down at the plant his hands were protectively wrapped around.

Jahiera’s gaze followed his. “I never took you as one for greenery, Astarion.”

“It’s not for me, ” he blurted, cringing inwardly. What if she told someone? All of them? Would they get a laugh out of the vampire trying to play the lover?

She lifted an eyebrow and smiled a small, knowing smile. “I see. Should I let her know you’re waiting upstairs?”

For some reason lately, Jaheira had started to behave with the infuriating air of someone older, and wiser around him, despite the fact that he had years on her. It was almost maternal in a way, and usually grated on him to no end. But today, he was quietly relieved to have her step in.

“If you must interject yourself.” He shrugged, struggling to put the mask of calm indifference back on.

“I think I will let the attitude slide for tonight, Astarion. Mayhaps tomorrow I will box your ears for it.”

He opened his mouth to snap back at her but she cut him off.

“And I’ll expect a thank-you when it’s all said and done.”

“Yes, Mother,” he sighed dramatically and began to walk away.

As soon as he was sure he was out of sight, he hurried his pace, not wanting to be caught out in the hallway when Sera came upstairs. With the door to the common room shut behind him, he took up position in their shared corner. Two beds and a folding screen, the most privacy they could manage right now. Another reason to miss the outdoors. Even if sleeping on the ground had been hellishly uncomfortable, the tent had walls at least.

It always struck him to see Sera’s things mixed in with his. A physical reminder that she had chosen this, him, even after his confession. And it gave him hope that she would keep choosing that way.

“Astarion, you wanted to see me?” Her voice interrupted his thoughts from across the room.

“Yes, darling, sorry to disturb your evening.” Perfect, just keep going, don’t screw this up.

The distance between them evaporated and she was standing right in front of him, waiting for him to continue. He kept his arms behind his back, keeping the plant hidden, still doubting it.

“I just wanted to apologize, for earlier today.”

“Oh, you don’t have to. You didn’t realize-”

“No,” he spat out more harshly than he intended and watched her eyes widen for a moment. Gods, why did he always lose his silver tongue where she was concerned. “Please don’t do that,” he softened his voice. “You’re always worried about my words when it comes to our companions, random strangers, and even my siblings. Don’t dismiss your own feelings so easily, hold me accountable for them, like anyone else’s.” Don’t make yourself tired of me, he added silently.

“With everything going on, I just didn’t want to make things harder for you. But, thank you.”

“See, that’s better, isn’t it?” He smiled, recovery made, things were going well.

“So, what’s behind your back?” She craned her neck, trying to peek around him playfully.

No avoiding it now. “I wanted to get you something to make up for it. It seems a bit foolish really.” Hesitantly, he presented the little plant to her.

She took it from his hands with reverence. “Forget-me-nots,” she beamed at the small flowers that matched the color of her eyes. “They’re beautiful. Thank you, Astarion, I love it.”

A small, awkward laugh escaped him. “Well, that’s quite a relief.”

And then she was moving, placing the plant on the table near their bed, before practically lunging at Astarion. The sudden force of her embrace knocked him from his feet and they collapsed back onto the mattress in a heap.

“Sorry,” Sera said through a soft laugh before kissing him. “You're wonderful, you know that?”

“I mean, I do, but I could stand to hear it more.”

“How about I show you instead?” She leaned in, kissing him again, lips parting tantalizingly.

He wanted to devour her, to pull her in tight and taste every bit of her. His tongue darted inside her mouth, eliciting a soft moan.

Ice ran up his spine, and he felt himself go rigid.

She pulled back and looked at him with concern. “Is it too much?”

The hells take his traitorous body. “No, I-I want to try. Please.” He bit back a growl of frustration. It killed him to want her this bad and to have the only thing stopping him be himself.

“Alright.”

She'd barely answered before he was pushing her back to the mattress by her shoulders and crawling between her legs.

He covered the exposed flesh of her neck with soft nips, fangs barely raking the skin. One hand found its way under her shirt, groping at her pebbled nipple.

Whimpering, her hips bucked against his, the sweetest pressure on his hardening cock. He groaned against her skin, both hands now pushing her shirt up, exploring her soft curves.

Head tilted to the side, she offered without words that delicious nectar he could never resist. Fangs burrowed into their favored spot and bliss filled his mouth.

Fingers tangled into his curls as he rutted against her. Her tongue lapped at the shell of his ear before she moaned his name. She was lost in him. Like a thousand others before her…

He froze, the world around him going hazy.

“Astarion,” she called to him softly.

“I can't,” he gasped, hot shame washing over him. Sera wasn't just another one of them, it shouldn't be like this. “I'm sorry.”

Gentle hands guided him to the mattress, arms enfolding him, so his head was buried in her neck. “Hush,” she kissed his forehead.

Neither said anything further about it, there wasn't need. He knew she didn't expect it of him, and she knew he had needed to try.

“Drink if you want,” she whispered, stroking his hair.

Gods, he loved her, even if he wasn't sure he'd ever told her properly how much. He bit back into the open wounds and drank lazily, eyes drifting to the bedside table and the little plant. Maybe there would be a someday with a place it could bloom outside, a place they both called home.

Tag list:

@micropoe10 @writingmysanity @mxxny-lupin @azu21

@tallymonster @dependsonthedream @sunfire-ancunin

@bambamwolf87 @fayeriess @lumienyx @lisrelly

@elora-the-slutty-songstress @bhaalbaaby @spacebarbarianweird

@satanicspinosaurus @darlingxdragon @wanderingisobel @astarionsbeloved

@vixstarria @claryvoyantfray @misscrissfemmefatale @bg3obsessedsideblogg @captainaceofspades @wickedwitchofthewilds @asterordinary @talented-bitch @waking-electric @snowfolly

#bg3 #astarion #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 fanfic #astarion x tav #bg3 tav #bg3 tav: Serafina #my fanfic #my writing #astarion x oc

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