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viridescentelf · 5 months ago

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In your debt - Final Part

Young Halsin x Reader

Hey guys! This is the final part of my Young Halsin saga lol. I may continue doing some other fics with this version of him, but I am quite frankly out of ideas for now.

I am not all too proud of this part. There are certain scenes that just don't hit as hard as I'd like, but I've been editing and tweaking for days now. I'm finally just accepting it is what it is and basta!

Original idea for young Halsin belongs to @ozumii-fucking-wizard! Please go to their blog and follow!

Warning: 18+, violence, general nsfw, explicit sex, oral and penetrative, rough

For previous parts: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

If you want a spicy song for "the moment", give this a listen. It's what I listened to while writing it lol

Word Count: 8k sorry lol

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Halsin listened to your plan and decided it was too risky. He rejected it in an exceedingly kind way, as his smile hypnotized you to refrain from arguing. You conceded, for now, but asked that he share his plans with you, once there were any. He agreed, reluctantly.

In the next few days, you noticed him speaking to two other druids in hushed voices. You surmised they were Frelma and Danan, the two he mentioned that would help him topple the looming drow and goblin threat.

They would hurriedly finish their meals and then gather at the edge of the forest. It was fairly obvious that they were doing something they shouldn’t, but you couldn’t tell if the Archdruid, or Anwen, suspected anything. If they did, they didn’t show their suspicions around you. Halsin joined Anwen in prayer every evening. You were allowed to observe. One time, you noticed Anwen cross her arms and eye her adoptive son from head to toe, while Halsin nervously sputtered something about “studying”. If you could tell he was lying, you were certain she could. But she didn’t press him, to your surprise.

Your healing was complete. You felt a surge of energy and strength within yourself after the final session with Halsin, but there was also a twinge of sadness. You enjoyed these tender bouts with him. The feeling of his warm hands upon you made you yearn for more. He would often lower his head and listen to your abdomen and a strobing image of him between your legs made you twitch and gulp down your lust, embarrassed that he may feel your body temperature rise dramatically.

You weren't certain the feeling was mutual. You thought you saw him blush a few times and try to hide it or noticed a devoted spark within his viridescent eyes as you complimented his duck figurines. The way he touched you, it felt different than how Anwen healed you. As if he was exploring.

You would talk for hours now. You taught him a few chords, he showed you what amazing things you could find in the forest – creatures, plants, food. He even taught you how to carve wood. He would sit behind you to guide your hands while you carefully sliced through the bark. His touch was so gentle. Some nights you two would sing together, that addictive laugh of his when he messed up a note or lyric; It almost made you swoon.

He loved learning about your travels, the city and misadventures you’d had. He confessed he was slightly bored of the forest and wanted to go on long explorations. He even joked about joining you – at least you thought it was a joke. The way he looked at you when he said “Good night”; Most evenings, it felt he had a difficult time leaving your side.

You couldn’t be sure: maybe he was just like this with everyone.

Halsin told you his current plan while you helped him forage one afternoon. They would track the goblins’ markings through the forest to the stronghold and sneak inside. He showed you the footprints peppering the muddy ground near the village entrance. Once there, they would eradicate the leaders, leaving the goblins without guidance and unable to organize. It sounded so simple, but once you pressed how three druids would manage to fight off a hoard of goblins and tactical drow leaders, he placated you that they were well trained. At the question “What if the goblins overwhelm you?” you noticed the druid’s eyes jitter across the floor. It looked like he hadn’t thought of that, but quickly shook off his reaction.

It was your last day together. Halsin decided he would leave with his group the following morning. Your healing had finished, after all. His task was done. You had no reason to stay in the druids’ village any longer. They all assumed you wanted to get back home – which was the furthest thing from your mind.

You had tucked the children into bed with a lullaby once again and found the druid waiting for you outside the barn. Leaning against a nearby tree, you sensed heightened hesitation on his end, unusual for him. You tilted your head as you watched him scan your features. Letting his arms drop, he approached you slowly. Your heart thudded against your chest.

“Y/N,…”, he looked deeply into your eyes as he grasped your hands within his. “It’s been a pleasure getting to know you. I wish we’d met under different circumstances. Please know you are always welcome in the High Forest! Thaniel adores you, the children adore you, my mother thinks you’re a riot. And I… well…” You saw him swallow harshly and your insides started combusting.

WHAT? SAY IT!

The young druid squeezed your hands slightly, his jaw clenched.

“I..”

The courage he was building up collapsed suddenly. He dropped his head and let out a sigh.

“Thank you for everything. I hope Silvanus permits our paths cross again. If I survive tomorrow.”

His laugh felt forced.

Your face muscles unclenched and your brows tilted upwards. That was it? You couldn’t suppress the pulsating disappointment. It showed in your eyes. What did he stop himself from saying?

Halsin looked disappointed as well. He stared off to the side and let go of your hands, taking his time.

You stood in silence for a while. The unspoken truth hammering in your chest. His reluctance threw you off. Did he not feel the way you did, after all? Did he not want you?

Your own bravery shrunk within itself. The words you had prepared in your head for days were fogging fast.

“Halsin,” you started with the first coherent thought, “Please let me come with you. The current plan is suicide.” This wasn’t all you wanted to say. But your tongue ignored you.

His eyes drifted over your face. He saw your own hesitation and blinked slowly.

“No. I can’t see you hurt again. And please, don’t worry. If things get too hard, we’ll get out of there.”

That last line was a lie. You could tell.

The druid stepped forward and pulled you into a tight embrace. Your breath shook as your face pressed against his strong chest. The scent of his skin drifted up your nose. You felt his chin rest on your head softly, as you two swayed in each other’s arms. The hug lasted a while, neither of you wanting to end it.

There was a brief tremor and he released from you.

“Oakfather preserve you”, he mumbled, looking down at you one last time before turning to leave.

You wanted to grab his arm and pull him back to you. But the fear of a second rejection was too deafening.

Why wouldn’t your mouth open? You wanted to scream that your wish was to stay with him. Your mind threw up every single want and need you imagined with him. But nothing dared leave your lips.

Halsin entered the barn and closed the sliding door without looking at you.

The tears fell from your eyes without warning. There was so much you wanted to say, but you couldn’t muster up any remaining strength or courage to follow him.

Maybe this was for the best. You had a life back in Baldur’s Gate. And he had his here.

Perhaps this was the way it had to be. As shitty as it was.

You walked up the path slowly, the druids’ village behind you, trekking the road back to the city in the morning light. Your entire body resisted the travel home. You didn’t want to go back. Your stomach was in knots.

You loved the High Forest. The children. The druids.

You had feelings for Halsin. Whether you were brave enough to speak them into existance or not, they existed. Not only did you long for him for his eternal beauty, but the endless gentle nature that embraced you every time he gazed into your eyes. You couldn’t be certain what he chose not to divulge to you yesterday, but you regretted not telling him how you felt.

His plan was dumb. He was surely walking into a massive trap in the stronghold. Your plan was also dumb, but it guaranteed that the druids would have a higher chance of survival. It didn’t guarantee your survival, but you had waved Halsin’s critique of that small detail away the same way he brushed yours off.

The idea of never seeing him again bit your heart. You couldn’t bear the thought of him getting hurt. And he would definitely be wounded or worse if he went through with his current plan.

A snaking, disturbing thought wrapped itself around your head. What if he actually got killed?

You stopped in your tracks and gazed at the path that led back home. You couldn’t let that happen. He was a big brother to those sweet children. The forest spirit was his friend. His mother would be in shambles. You would be inconsolable.

This plan is dumb.

You felt your body turn on its heels and face the direction of the village once more. Not knowing what happened to him would be the worst kind of torture. The endless wondering if he was alright. The sleepless nights praying to all the Gods that he returned to the druids’ village safely.

It won’t work.

The tempo of your stride increased gradually, leaving gusts of dirt behind you, as you ran back. Halsin had showed you which footprints they were following. You knew in which direction they were heading.

I’m gonna die again.

You muttered to yourself as you hiked up a steep hill through the trees, the goblins’ tracks still visible in the dirt road. You spotted fresh larger prints and recognized Halsin’s boots.

You ran, holding the beautiful lute he made for you in your hand.

You found them deeper in the forest, stalking low through the high bushes, their pace steady. Halsin’s broad shoulders tensed as he led the way through the brush, flanked by his two companions—each of them with their eyes sharp, alert to the clashing and clanking of metal below in the clearing. The afternoon sun filtered through the trees, casting long shadows that danced along the path. You could hear their hushed conversation as you approached, their words blending with the rustling of leaves.

"Halsin!" You called out, breathless, your heart pounding in your chest from the frantic, long sprint. Your face was the shade of a fire amber.

Halsin spun around, eyes wide with surprise as he saw you coming up the trail. His face softened, but there was an unmistakable flicker of frustration in his gaze: “What are you doing here? No! Get back to the city!”

You peered down at what they had discovered. A large camp stretched across a field of dead trees with a decaying ruin casting huge shadows on the hastily constructed ramparts. It emanated death, making the skin on the back of your neck prickle with fear. There was a moat around the camp with a rickety and long bridge stretching across the depth.

Gulping audibly, you returned your gaze to the group of confused druids who were waiting for an explanation. Halsin looked incredulous.

You planted yourself firmly in front of him: “I’m here to help. Your plan—it won’t work man, I just know it won’t.”

His jaw tightened, a low growl of annoyance escaping his throat: “And your plan? The one where you sacrifice yourself as bait for a horde of viscious goblins? That will work? It’s reckless, stupid, dangerou—”

“It’s the only way!”, you interrupted, meeting his intense, worried glare with unwavering determination, although your knees were giving in. Why was even his angered face hot?

“If I can lead the goblins away, it will give you and the others a real chance to take out the drow without being overwhelmed. Your plan leaves too much to chance. We can’t afford that, not with the children’s lives at stake.”

Halsin’s hands balled into fists at his sides, his voice strained: “No. I can’t let you. It’s too risky and if something happens to you again—” His words trailed off, the frustration giving way to something deeper, more vulnerable.

His two friends, who had been silent until now, exchanged glances. Frelma, a younger, halfling druid with sharp eyes and a playful expression, stepped forward: “Halsin,… I’m sorry mate, but maybe they’re right. Our current plan is… well not really a plan, is it? We’re kind of just jumping in and hoping for the best. This way…to draw the goblins out… it could give us a real advantage.”

Danan, a quiet but sturdy looking human, nodded in agreement: “It’s better than what you have been conjuring up as we go.” He turned his gaze to you, scanning you up and down. Your breath was already steady, despite having ran the entire way.

“You have good stamina. Definitely fast to catch up with us so quickly. What’s your plan for distracting them?”

You hastily flung your bag on the ground and rummaged in it. Out of the chaotic depths of your belongings, you pulled a couple glass bottles out. Holding them up, you explained: “I know, if you mix salt, scales and fungi together, it can make a decent explosive. Not too devastating but enough to cause confusion. I have salt in my pack. You guys should know how to find the rest, no?”

Frelma paused briefly then nodded, mumbling that she noticed drake markings at a nearby cave. Danan already started peering into the forest, assessing where he could ascertain the right mushrooms.

Halsin’s eyes darted between his companions and you, his internal struggle palpable. His shoulders sagged, the weight of the situation bearing down on him: “This is lunacy. You don’t understand what you’re up against here,” he said softly, almost pleading. “I don’t want to see you hurt again. Not for this.”

You got up from the ground, still holding the bottles in your hands. You took a step closer, your voice gentle but firm: “I know I don’t look it, but I’ve bolted my way out of horrible situations before. I can outrun them. You just take care of the leaders. This way, you guys can use the element of surprise to your benefit. If you go through with this without a real plan, it could be you who gets hurt, or worse. I can’t let that happen. Please… let me do this.”

The worry he had for you made your heart scream.

His gaze held yours for a long moment, his eyes searching your face for any sign of hesitation. You could feel the raw emotion behind his steely exterior—because it echoed within your own form.

Frelma pressed the young druid further: “Halsin. We have to succeed today. If we lose, I do not want to know what will happen to the village.” Danan nodded in agreement. All three were staring up at the honey-haired elf, who kept his gaze firmly on you.

Finally, with a deep, resigned sigh, he spoke, his voice thick with emotion: “I don’t like this, not one bit… but… I guess you’re right. We cannot afford to lose.”

You exhaled, relief flooding through you as his words sank in: “I’ll be careful. I promise.”

Halsin’s worry still clouded his features. He reached out, resting a hand on your cheek, his touch warm and grounding. Your red face turned purple.

“Run like hell,” he adjured, his voice deep and filled with a quiet intensity. “The forest needs you. The children need you… and so do I.”

You gave a small, determined nod, gripping the bottles in your hand. You leaned into his touch briefly, before he lowered his hand to turn to the stronghold.

You turned as well, ready to set your plan in motion while the other two went on to gather the necessary ingredients. Halsin stayed back to look for any shallow entryway. You cast one last look at him, before you ran after Danan and Frelma.

Night had fallen by the time you reached the outskirts of the goblin camp. Shadows stretched long across the ground, and the loud, raucous voices of goblins and drow filled the air as they feasted and drank within the ruin’s crumbling walls. The scent of roasted, sour meat wafted on the night breeze, mixing with the pungent stench of unwashed bodies and smoke. It made your stomach churn, both from nerves and disgust.

High above in the ramparts of the ruin, you squatted down, cloaked in the darkness. You moved carefully, staying low as you crept across the stone. The weight of the glass bottles in your hand was a constant reminder of what was to come. You felt your heart pound against your chest with a mix of adrenaline and fear.

What the Hells am I doing?

Below, in the ruin's hall, the three drow leaders sat at the head of the long table, their faces twisted in haughty disdain as they presided over the goblins, who sheepishly ate food scraps the drow had thrown on their tables. Two female warriors, clad in dark armor and bristling with blades, flanked a male drow in elegant robes. His sneering gaze drifted across the room like a spider surveying its web, full of contempt for his own underlings and their disappointing return. Dead goblin corpses littered the front. Their throats slit or heads caved in. You surmised the drow had made an example out of some of the goblins for their failure to capture the children. You recognized Izick, his body sprawled, bloody and discarded off to the side. So, he had survived the fall with you. But he hadn’t avoided death.

The goblins were too distracted to notice the approaching danger, but the drow remained sharp—dangerous even in their leisure.

Halsin, Frelma, and Danan moved silently, shadows within shadows, creeping through the underbrush and stone rubble surrounding the stronghold. Their presence was almost imperceptible, the tension building as they stalked closer to their target. You saw Halsin in a deep crouch near the rear of the ruin, his eyes gleaming golden in the moonlight, the instinctual urge to charge into the fray held back by sheer force of will. He waited, watching for your signal, his backside straining for a pounce.

It was your turn.

This is suicide, your brain screamed at you, but you ignored it.

The goblins below were too engrossed in eating scraps to notice you at the ramparts. Some were fighting amongst themselves for pieces of food, others drunkenly hollering at each other. It was the perfect storm of chaos, ripe for your plan to begin.

You gripped the grenade bottle tightly, sweat slick on your palm despite the cool night air. Every second felt like a lifetime ticking away. You counted the goblins below—too many to face in open battle, but just enough to chase after one tantalizing and idiotic distraction.

You inhaled deeply, steadying yourself.

I’m definitely going to die.

You shook your head. Now wasn’t the time for reason. This had to work. It just had to.

It felt like days passed as you waited for your arm to obey.

Then, with a flick of your wrist, you hurled the bottle with all your strength into the heart of the camp.

Time seemed to slow as the glass bottle arched through the air, glinting in the dim light of the torches. It smashed against a stone near the goblins' fire pit, shattering into a brilliant flash of sparks and smoke. The chemical mixture inside ignited with a crackling roar, and suddenly, flames and choking fumes exploded upward. Goblins screeched in confusion, clutching at their eyes, as a burst of light and sound sent them into a frenzied panic.

The table overturned in the chaos, food and drink spilling everywhere. The male drow snapped to attention, his sharp eyes narrowing with suspicion. "What is the meaning of this?" he barked at the goblins, his voice dripping with venom.

But the goblins were beyond control now. The noise and flames had triggered their primal instincts—fight or flight. And when they caught sight of you, darting across the top of the ramparts, they made their choice.

“There!” one of the goblins howled, pointing at your fleeting form. “Get that rat!”

Like a wave crashing over rocks, the goblin horde surged toward you, claws and weapons raised. You didn’t wait to see the full effect; you bolted, heart pounding, lungs burning as your legs carried you across the stone ruins. The cacophony of angry goblins filled the air behind you, their shrieks and footfalls growing louder as they swarmed after you like a pack of feral beasts.

You leaped from the ramparts and rolled as you hit the ground, not daring to look back as you sprinted through the muddy camp, your feet pounding against the squelching earth. They were following you, as planned, but there were so many. The old bridge loomed ahead, dark and rickety as the wind swayed the frayed wood from side to side. The goblins’ cries echoed through the night as you darted towards the peninsula.

Back at the ruin, Halsin and his companions took advantage of the chaos. With the goblins now chasing you, the main hall was left vulnerable, the drow leaders standing alone with only a few goblin stragglers, stunned and confused by the sudden turn of events.

Frelma grinned, her eyes gleaming with anticipation as she crouched beside Halsin. “Well, that worked better than expected,” she whispered.

Danan grunted in agreement, his eyes locked on the drow. “It’s time.”

Halsin's hands flexed at his sides, his jaw tight as he watched the drow leaders—three of Lolth's chosen, arrogant and cruel, their dark eyes scanning the room for signs of the ambush they couldn’t see coming. He could feel the heat rising in his chest, the primal fury begging to be unleashed. A flash of you, hurt and bleeding, flitted in his mind. But he shook his head. He needed to concentrate and fulfill the mission.

“Hold,” he muttered, forcing himself to wait a moment longer. He needed to time the attack perfectly. The last few goblins hastily followed the group after the male drow growled at them for their uselessness. You had done your part - he couldn’t let the drow sense what was coming. His fingers tingled with the surge of druidic power inside him, the need to transform almost overwhelming.

Finally, when the drow leaders’ attention drifted back to their overturned table for a brief second, Halsin gave a sharp nod to his companions.

With a single, fluid motion, Halsin burst from the shadows, his body aglow with golden light as his form shifted, muscles rippling as he transformed mid-leap. His bear form crashed into the male drow, sending him sprawling as Frelma and Danan surged forward, weapons flashing in the dim light. The two female drow drew their blades, their faces twisted into sneers as they prepared to fight back.

Frelma’s blade flashed in the moonlight as she darted around one of the warriors, each strike met with a sharp parry and a flurry of counterattacks. Danan fought the other, their weapons clashing with a thunderous ring, the drow’s face twisted in a sneer of amusement. She was toying with him, each movement graceful and calculated, a predator circling its prey.

Halsin, now in his bear form, roared as he slammed into the leader, sending him crashing against a crumbled wall. The drow hit the ground with a sickening thud, and for a moment, his body lay still. Halsin didn’t have time to confirm the kill—Frelma’s pained grunt drew his attention.

The female drow were vicious. Agile and brutal, their movements were precise and deadly. Frelma barely avoided a swipe to her throat, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she dodged and weaved. She was tiring. Danan was faring no better, his opponent driving him back step by step, her twin blades a blur of death in the dim light.

With a growl, Halsin charged, shifting back into his elven form. He unsheathed his staff, the wood crackling with druidic energy, and swung it down with the full force of his fury. It caught one of the drow off guard, knocking her off balance and giving Frelma the opening she needed. Frelma lunged forward, her blade finding purchase in the drow’s side, and the dark elf let out a hiss of pain, her sneer faltering.

Danan managed to regain his footing, pressing his attack as the second female drow turned her attention to Halsin. Her cold, red eyes gleamed with hatred, and she launched herself at him with lightning speed, her blades aimed straight for his chest.

But Halsin was ready.

He sidestepped her, his staff spinning in a fluid arc, knocking one of her blades from her hand. She snarled, but before she could recover, he brought the end of his staff crashing down on her wrist with a sharp crack, disarming her completely. Frelma and Danan closed in, ready to finish the fight.

Halsin’s gaze flicked toward the male drow, still crumpled against the wall. He didn’t move, his body seemingly lifeless.

You tore across the rickety old bridge that connected the ruin to the High Forest beyond. The ancient wood yawned angrily beneath your feet, swaying alarmingly with each step, but you couldn't slow down. The horde of goblins was right behind you, their screeches growing louder as they stormed across the bridge in pursuit. The clanging of their blades on their armor punched into your ears, their claws scraping against the tired wood.

Your heart pounded in your chest, every instinct screaming at you to keep running. Just a little farther.

Once you reached the other side of the bridge, you skidded to a stop, panting heavily as you pulled the second grenade bottle from your belt. With a quick glance over your shoulder, you saw the goblins—dozens of them—crowding onto the bridge. It groaned under their weight, the ancient wood splintering at the edges.

This was it.

You hurled the bottle at the center of the bridge, your aim true. The glass shattered against the wood, and for a heartbeat, nothing happened.

Then, with a deafening explosion, the bridge erupted in a shower of fire and splinters. The force of the blast eviscerated the structure, sending chunks of wood and metal flying into the air. The goblins let out terrified shrieks as the ground disappeared beneath them. You watched as they tumbled into the depths below, their bodies swallowed by the darkness of the ravine.

The bridge was gone. The goblins were no more.

You collapsed to your knees, gasping for breath, a mix of relief and exhaustion washing over you. The plan had worked. The horde was dealt with. You had made it out alive. You stared at the tower, anxiety gripping your throat. Was Halsin ok?

Back in the ruin, Halsin felt the rumble of the second explosion vibrate in the distance.

As the other female drow fell to the ground, defeated, Halsin’s attention snapped back to where the male drow had lain motionless. His heart fell to his stomach. The body was gone.

Halsin’s eyes widened in horror: "No..."

A surge of cold dread shot through him as he turned toward the entrance of the ruin. His mind raced, piecing it together—Misty Step. The male drow hadn’t been incapacitated. He had been waiting, biding his time, and now…

Was he going after you?

Halsin’s stomach twisted into knots, a cold sweat breaking out across his brow.

“I need to go!”, he barked at Frelma and Danan, urgency flooding his voice, “He’s going after Y/N!”

Without waiting for a reply, Halsin sprinted toward the exit, his legs pumping furiously as he raced through the ruin and out into the night.

He dashed through the mud with fire burning in his legs, stomach and throat, inconsolable at the sheer possibility that you could be harmed. Reaching the edge of the camp, embers of the explosion floated through the darkness and the charred wood smell invaded his nostrils.

Seeing the young druid on the other side, you cheered loudly, jumping up and down with your fist pumping into the air.

Halsin stared across the deep crevice before him at your gleeful hopping form, excessive concern stretched across his face. He couldn’t jump the distance in his human form.

Where was the drow?

You couldn’t see that far, so you didn’t notice how worrisome his expression was. You were so happy to see him alive and unharmed. Your plan had worked. The ecstasy of success waved through you and left you distracted. Your loud yelps of joy deafened the surroundings.

A whooshing sound reverberated behind you. Mist flowed between your legs as you landed from another jump. A harsh tug of your hair yanked you against your will back into the air. You kicked with your feet, but the drow held his arm outstretched, clasping a clump of your tresses. The pain made your spine contort.

“Y/N!!!”, Halsin shouted across the moat, his panicked voice repeated through the stone. The young druid’s body glowed golden, as he tried to transform.

“Don’t move…”, the drow’s sharp voice hissed to the druid, as he held a dagger to your side. “Or I’ll gut them.”

The pointy, harsh edge of the blade stuck in your belly. It hovered there dangerously close to your recovered area. You tried not to squirm too much in fear of being punctured, but the pain from your cranium made you move involuntarily.

Halsin roared with fury, the golden light flashing low: “Let them go!”

The drow sneered, his lips curling into a cruel smirk. He dragged you closer, the blade still teasingly pressed against your abdomen: “You druids... you're all the same,” he growled, voice dripping with contempt. “Always talking about balance, harmony, and the natural order, like it makes you righteous. But what do you really know of power? You hide in your groves and forests, pretending to be one with nature, while the world burns and bends to those with ambition.”

He jerked your head back further, his fingers tangling painfully in your hair, yanking your neck at an awkward angle. “Slaves, like these filthy children you’re so desperate to protect, are a necessity for those of us who understand true strength. They’re tools—nothing more. Yet you lot," he glanced at Halsin with disdain, "would sacrifice your lives for them. Pathetic."

His eyes gleamed with malice, the grip on the blade loosening just slightly as he gestured toward Halsin. “Because of your meddling, I’ll have to replace what’s been taken from me. Those ugly children? They’d have made fine thralls, but I suppose I’ll just have to make do with this one instead. And I’ll return with more, fearsome soldiers.”

The blade wavered precariously as he waved it in the air, illustrating his sick vision. His attention drifted more and more toward his rant, the gloating feeding his arrogance. “My people—we understand how the world truly works. We take what we deserve, we own, we dominate. That’s the natural order.” He flicked the blade dangerously close to your ribs again, but it was clear—he was more interested in hearing the sound of his own voice than paying attention to his hostage.

Through the haze of pain and fear, you could feel it—the rhythm of his speech, the looseness of his grip, the blade no longer pressing with the same deadly certainty. His monologue flowed, each word laced with bitterness, but it was also growing sloppier, as his arrogance overtook his caution.

“Your little rebellion here means nothing. You’ll all fall to us, one way or another. No one stands against us and lives to—"

You didn’t let him finish.

In a surge of adrenaline, you kicked your legs up, swinging your foot with as much force as you could muster. The heel of your boot connected hard with the blade in his hand, sending it clattering across the stone ground. The drow yelped in fury and pain as the force of the blow snapped his fingers back, the sickening crack of bone ringing in your ears. He released his grip on your hair with a sharp intake of breath, stumbling back in shock and agony, clutching his broken extremities.

You fell on your back with a deep thud. Letting out an involuntary grunt, the fall had momentarily immobilized you, as your body tried to assess the damage. Your spine ached all the way down to your tailbone, which pulsated with a cruel sting. Your groans echoed through the crater, joining with the drow’s wails.

You heard the clattering of steel against stone again. Opening your eyes, they filled with fear as the drow walked towards you, blade back in both hands with two fingers bent in the wrong direction. He thrust up in the air to pierce your chest. You crawled backwards instinctively, but he was too fast. His biceps flexed: he was about to swing forward.

A giant, brown beast collided into him from the side, having jumped across the abyss. The bear roared with a deep, thunderous bellow, a powerful and resonant sound that rumbled like distant thunder, carrying the raw force of its primal strength. It was a familiar intonation; you had heard it the first day at the druids’ village. The rage filled small eyes gleamed in a green shade.

Its massive paws pummeled the dark elf, who was unable to do anything other than take each mighty strike. The bear hovered over you, the brown fur tickling your arms and legs as he continuously slammed down on the adversary. The crunching and cracking noises made you wince, holding your hands over your face.

The strikes continued for a while, until the bear let out another mighty roar. You dared not look at the result of the violence, but the drow didn’t move anymore.

His beastly form started glowing with a golden hue as he faced you lying beneath him. You peered at him through your fingers.

The bear transformed into Halsin, who hovered over you panting with exhaustion and excitement. Your breath was similarly fast, exhaling the fear and burning sensation in your legs out as you stared into each other’s eyes.

Both of you let out soft chuckles. You had done it. The village was safe. The children were protected again.

His eyes twitched back and forth from your eyes to your lips as your puffing synchronized shakily. Your heart was hammering against your chest. The jade hue in his eyes twinkled with a hunger you hadn’t seen before: it was the same craving you had had ever since you met him. He was waiting for something. Without really thinking, you nodded quickly.

He fell forward into your lips. You let out a moan as he kissed you hard and his body pressed into your own. He kept himself poised above you with his strong arms, but his leg pushed yours apart so he could press himself into you. Your tongues lapped each other up, the fiery taste trickling down your throat and intensifying the throbbing in your loins.

The intensity of your long-suppressed desires finally broke free. The mixture of happiness that he felt the way you did intertwined with the drive to please him. Both of you almost died. You had survived. You wanted each other now more than ever. You were both equally happy to see each other unharmed and could not wait any longer. There was no moment to think about timing.

Halsin's strong hands caressed your face, his touch gentle yet urgent. You wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders, pulling him closer as the kiss deepened. The heat between your bodies grew, months of unspoken longing pouring out through fevered touches and passionate embraces.

Halsin's lips trailed down your neck, eliciting soft gasps as he found sensitive spots. His hands roamed your body, exploring every curve with reverence. You arched into his touch, fingers tangling in his hair as waves of expectation washed over you.

Clothing was hastily shed, both of you eager to feel skin against skin. Halsin's muscular form pressed against you, his warmth enveloping you completely. His touch was electric, igniting sparks wherever his fingers grazed. You traced the planes of his beautiful chest, gazing entranced at his pristine physique - a vision you had only been imagining since you met him. The discarded clothes lay forgotten by your sides.

His eyes filled with primal urge, eyeing your sweat speckled body he had been carefully mending for a long time. You gazed at each other, panting from the exhaustion of the heist and the anticipation of what needed to happen between you.

The druid scooped you up in his strong arms, carrying you away from the grisly scene to a more secluded spot against a large oak tree. His lips never left yours as he gently set you down, then pressed you up against the rough bark. The contrast of the tree's coarse texture against your back and Halsin's warm, smooth skin against your front sent shivers through your body. His large hands squeezed fleshy parts of you as you gasped into his ear. Halsin growled low in his throat, the sound vibrating in your spine and making the flame within you burn blue.

Halsin's lips traced a sizzling path down your neck as he gripped your ass. He lifted you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist as he pressed you against the tree. The rough bark scraped your back. He grasped his length and held it up against your entrance, staring at you with impatient craving. Yet, he waited for your approval. You hastily nodded your head and spatt out a breathy “Yes”, which was interrupted by him thrusting deep into you. Your head fell back as you cried out - he was so big. He dared not enter you fully, thrusting only half of himself into your tiny body.

He held you up, easily, kissing the side of your neck to comfort you through his wild and frantic punctures.

Your bodies moved together in a primal rhythm, finding a perfect synchronicity. Halsin's muscular form rippled with each thrust, his face a mask of passionate intensity as he grunted deeply. You clung to his broad shoulders, nails digging into his skin as waves of pleasure washed over you.

He carried you down to the forest floor, laying you gently on a bed of soft moss. Halsin hovered above you, his jade eyes dark with desire as he drank in the sight of your form. His hands roamed reverently over your curves before he lowered himself to you. His tongue tickled you and your back arched up aggressively into his mouth. You lay a hand on his honey hair and pushed him down into you. He obliged and licked faster, feeling you jerk and twist under his work. He chuckled teasingly into you, as he felt you get close.

“Not yet,…” he purred, staring up at you.

You rolled on top of him before he could continue teasing. You positioned yourself over his quaking cock.

Your thighs trembled with anticipation as you hovered over him. He gripped your hips, steadying you as you slowly lowered yourself onto his length. A soft gasp escaped your lips as you took him in, inch by delicious inch, until he was fully sheathed inside you.

For a moment, you both stayed still, reveling in the sensation of being so intimately connected. The druid’s chest rose and fell rapidly in the golden hue, as he fought to maintain control. You placed your hands on his broad chest, feeling the fast beating of his heart beneath your palms.

Then, with a roll of your hips, you began to move. Slowly at first, savoring every sensation as you rose and fell upon him, feeling him slide inside you was a bittersweet sensation, as your body trembled with each thrust. The stretching of your walls to accommodate his immense size sent a strange concoction of pain and pleasure coursing through you. It was almost overwhelming, the way he filled every inch of you, pushing boundaries that seemed impossible. But you couldn't deny the rush of excitement and ecstasy that came with it, making you shiver and arch your back in pure bliss. It was an experience like no other, one that left you breathless and wanting more.

Halsin's fingers dug into your flesh, guiding your movements as eager groans rumbled from him. You thought you heard him say something, but were too engulfed in riding him fiercely to activate your hearing.

He held you still with his strength and thrust up into you.

Your bodies synchronised again, each roll of your hips met by his upward drive. The forest around you seemed to pulse with energy, leaves rustling and branches swaying as if nature itself was swept up in your passionate union.

With a low growl, Halsin suddenly sat up, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you flush against his chest. He kissed you deeply, hungrily, as if he couldn't get enough. Then, in one fluid motion, he flipped you over onto your hands and knees.

You felt the soft moss beneath your palms as Halsin positioned himself behind you. His large hands caressed your back, tracing the curve of your spine before gripping your hips once more. You shivered, feeling his hardness pressing against your dripping hole. As he drilled into you, you felt him lean over your back, his towering form much larger than yours. His calloused hand softly wrapped around your neck, pulling your face up towards him.

You stared at each other as you let out deepseated moans, as you came all over him. Seeing the rapture flood through you, made him pound into you even harder. Halsin's thrusts became more urgent, his breathing ragged as he neared his peak.

You could feel the tension building in his body, muscles taut with exertion and pleasure.

With a final, deep thrust, Halsin let out a primal, inhuman roar. His body shuddered as he spilled himself inside you, his warmth flooding your core. You felt his cock pulse within you, drawing out the last waves of your own climax.

For a moment, you both remained still, panting heavily as the intensity of your shared release washed over you. Then, gently, Halsin eased out of you and gathered you into his arms. He lay back on the soft moss, cradling you against his broad chest.

You nestled into his warmth, feeling the rapid beating of his heart gradually slow, both your breathing matching each other.

Your bodies eased into the softness of the ground and the druid and you let out highly needed laughs.

As your giggles subsided, you both lay there in comfortable silence, basking in the afterglow of your passionate encounter. The forest around you seemed to hum with contentment, the gentle rustling of leaves and distant chirping of nocturnal creatures creating a soothing symphony.

Halsin's fingers traced lazy patterns on your skin, sending pleasant shivers down your spine. You nestled closer to him, resting your head on his broad chest, listening to the strong rhythm of his heartbeat.

"You know," Halsin began, his deep voice rumbling in his chest, "I've been wanting to do that for quite some time now."

You chuckled softly, tilting your head to meet his gaze. "Oh really? And here I thought I was the only one pining away."

His jade eyes sparkled with amusement and affection. "Pining, were you?”

“Fuck yes. When you first found me in the forest, I thought you were a God about to take me up to the Heavens. Couldn’t believe someone as handsome as you was semi-mortal.”

Halsin chuckled and pet your hair: “Even close to death, I couldn’t keep my eyes off you. Although I don’t like remembering seeing you like that. I am still beyond thankful to Silvanus that you pushed through that vile injury.”

You remembered something as he spoke of your first encounter.

“Hey, you were kissing me when I was unconscious, that’s a bit rude isn’t it?”

He laughed again: “I did not, I was bringing you back from the dead, mind you! Simple first aid, but effective.”

“First aid, sure.”

Halsin's eyes twinkled with mischief as he gazed at you. "Well, if you'd prefer, next time I find you half-dead, I'll just leave you be. Wouldn't want to be accused of taking advantage."

You snorted, playfully swatting his chest. "Oh please, as if you could resist these lips, even in a coma."

He giggled sweetly, the sound rumbling through his chest again and into yours. "You're right, I couldn't. Though I must say, you're much more enticing when you're conscious and not bleeding out. You have a crazy fascination with tempting fate. I must say I’ve never met someone like you before."

"Flatterer," you teased, tracing idle patterns on his skin. "I bet you say that to all the bards you rescue from certain doom."

Halsin's expression softened, his hand coming to cup your cheek. "Only the ones who’ve stolen my heart.”

You could've fainted right then. Your cheeks flushed even more.

He grinned, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear: "You came charging into our village, disrupting our peaceful way of life with your enchanting melodies and irresistible charm."

"Ah yes, because nothing says 'irresistible charm' quite like being half-way across the finish line of life.”

Both of you laughed together for a bit longer. You reminisced about the insanity of your unsually successful overthrow of the drow base. Halsin mused over how he was going to explain any of this to others’ in the village, especially the Archdruid. You promised to take the blame, it was your idea anyway.

As the first light of dawn began to filter through the forest canopy, you and Halsin reluctantly disentangled yourselves from each other's embrace. The cool morning air raised goosebumps on your skin as you gathered your discarded clothing, stealing glances and sharing soft smiles as you dressed.

Halsin's companions, Frelma and Danan, had long since returned to the village, trusting their leader to get home. As you made your way back through the forest, Halsin's hand found yours, his fingers intertwining with your own. The warmth of his touch sent a thrill through you.

The forest seemed different now, more alive and vibrant than ever before. Perhaps it was the afterglow of your encounter, or maybe it was the newfound connection you felt to this place and the man beside you.

As you and Halsin approached the druid village, you could hear the Archdruid's booming voice even before you saw him. His face was contorted with fury as he paced back and forth, gesticulating wildly. Hesitating slightly, you two walked through the entrance and were met with dangerous bellows, insults and worried eyes. Dafydd hit Halsin over the head a few times with his staff, while Anwen exasperately held your shoulders to check you for any injuries. Ultimately, they were right to be angry and concerned. The elder druid placed the blame on her son, although you insisted you were the main plotter (she didn’t believe you). You were certain they would ban you, yet they showered you in flower crowns and good mead. Halsin was eventually allowed into the festivities, after promising to clean up cow dung for 6 months as punishment.

You couldn’t stay in the village, as you had no desire to convert to druidism. Relucantly you returned to the city.

You vowed to come visit often, making your trips to the forest known, so he could see you. You promised to convince Anwen that Halsin could join you on your travels one day. Although that conversation had to wait a long while.

With each visit, you found little baskets of berries from the children and a newly whittled duck figurine that made you smile under your usual tree.

And every time your form became visible upon the horizon of the village, emerging from the forest path, Halsin’s eyes lit up and beamed at you.

#halsin bg3 #halsin #bg3 #halsin x reader #halsin x you #young halsin #young druid halsin #halsin silverbough #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 fanfiction #halsin fanfic #Spotify

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mediumgayitalian · 1 year ago

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If there’s one thing Will is, it’s committed to the bit.

Is there, perhaps, a touch of regret in his heart as he shivers, freezing, clad in nothing but his t-shirt and cargo shorts? Had he been told, before he left his cabin, by his long-suffering siblings that he was going to regret not wearing a sweater? Was the none-too-gentle reminder sixty-four percent of the reason he’d stubbornly refused the sweater he’d originally been planning on wearing in the first place?

Yes, yes, and no, surprisingly; take that, predictability allegations. He’s spontaneous as shit.

(Eight-three percent.)

(Whatever.)

He walks under a shadowy tree, briefly enveloping him in a deeper cold. He tries and fails to hold back a shudder.

“You’re cold,” says a critical voice to his left.

“I’ve never experienced even a mild case of hypothyroidism-borne boreal temperature intolerance even one time in my life, di Angelo, so check and mate.”

Unfortunately, the second half of his sentence is garbled by both his chattering teeth and his throat beginning to close. Curse you, Apollonian inability to lie. Will has people to gaslight, and a reputation to protect.

“You’re an idiot.”

Will wheezes. After three or four attempts, and the threat from his brain to his lungs that he will self-tracheotomize, really, he will, just try and fuck around cause you will sure as shit find out, bitch, he manages to clear his airways enough to employ his vocal chords (which, actually, are inaptly named. They are not chords, they are membranophones. Obviously).

“Nuh uh.”

“You really are an idiot. A frozen one.” Nico huffs. There is the sound of rustling, and for a moment Will is blindingly jealous of his friend’s night vision. He wants to snoop around in the dark to identify rustling sounds. How come he only glows when he’s embarrassed? He gets the stupidest Apollo powers. “Take my coat.”

Before Will can do much as protest, a heavy, undoubtedly warm jacket is shoved in his pockets.

“If you don’t wear it I’ll shadow travel to Slovakia,” Nico threatens. “And it’s winter for them right now, too, so I’ll pop out and immediately succumb to the elements.”

Will’s turn to be huffy, he slides the stupid jacket onto his arms. Immediately, he’s filled with a warmth so potent he feels as if he can almost fix his many mental problems. It’s glorious.

“Jacket smells like you, stink-face,” he says instead. He buries his nose in the collar and takes a deep inhale, closing his eyes as he savours the smell of woodsmoke, leather, and, amusingly, a little bit of oregano.

“Remind me to stab you tomorrow morning. It’s been too long.”

“It’s been three days,” Will argues, but dutifully makes a mental note.

Nico seems pleased.

They finally break through the woods’ borders, stepping into the torchlight of camp, late evening. Will spots three couples sucking face behind their cabin. He then spies thrice as many Hermes kids up to nefarious deeds, such as attaching timed fireworks to windows and doorways for a fun morning surprise. Will makes a mental note, under the stabbing reminder, to prepare burn salve tomorrow morning. And to hide Cecil in his office for his own protection, because he’s a good friend like that.

“Thank you for getting herbs with me,” Will says, turning to Nico. He smiles, trying to pour as much gratitude into his voice as he can. “I hate going alone.”

“Yeah,” says Nico, stiffly. He looks everywhere but Will’s face. When Will does not look away, he glances over, scowling at Will’s broadening grin. “Whatever, Solace. Don’t be so needy, next time.”

Tactfully, Will refrains from mentioning that he had not asked for Nico’s accompaniment at all, actually, and was halfway to the forest with a list of ingredients when Nico had shown up, red-faced, and snatched Will’s list clean out of his hands and muttered something about incompetence and monster baiting fools.

“I still appreciate it,” he says diplomatically, and then, because he is an asshole and also struggles with impulse control, he leans down and pecks Nico’s forehead. “Smooch of gratitude,” he explains when Nico freezes, facial expression resembling that of a squished pear.

“Ha nngh mfgh,” Nico says after a moment. Or perhaps he said hangry muffins, Will’s not sure, sometimes his hearing aids go wonky.

“Indeed,” he says anyway. He leans down to smooch Nico’s forehead again, because it was nice, and because he didn’t get stabbed the first time. “See you in the morning, Neeks. Love you bunches and bunches.”

“Hngh daga,” Nico responds, and when Will pouts he clears his throat and rectifies, “I love you…too?”

Will nods, satisfied. “Yes, exactly. Goodnight.”

He jogs off, waving. It isn’t until he gets back to his cabin and is immediately accosted by his siblings that he realises that he has stolen Nico’s jacket.

“Hm.” He glances down at it. It really is a wonderful jacket. And, plus, Nico didn’t give him a return date, or anything, so it’s probably fine if he keeps it a little longer.

He doesn’t want to get cold, after all.

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sillysturns · 8 days ago

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⋆˚｡⋆୨✧୧˚ 𝒑𝒊𝒏𝒌 𝒑𝒐𝒏𝒚 𝒄𝒍𝒖𝒃 ˚୨✧୧⋆｡˚⋆

The spotlight hit me like a confession, a blinding truth as you walked onstage. I scan the crowd, the realization hitting me like the ton of bricks. Tonight was different. Tonight I was opening for Madison Beer at the Spinnin Tour. Tonight, I was laying out my soul, pink and glitter-dusted.

I grabbed the glittery microphone, its cold metal a familiar comfort against my already sweating palm. A ripple went through the crowd. Some knew. Some were about to.

"Alright, guys," I murmured into the mic, my voice a little shaky at first. "Tonight, we're doing something a little different. Normally I open with Hot To Go, but I'm singing a song most of you probably know, " A nervous laugh bubbled up, and I forced it down. "This one's for anyone who's ever felt like they belonged in a place that didn't exist."

The opening chords of "Pink Pony Club" started, raw and unapologetically feminine. I closed my eyes for a moment, letting the music wash over you, letting it possess me. This wasn't just singing; this was a fucking exorcism, a declaration, a homecoming. Because the Pink Pony Club wasn't just a place; it was a state of mind, a rebellion, a celebration of being unapologetically yourself.

The soft opening chords blared through the speakers, an explosion that vibrated in my chest. Spotlights hit me, bathing me in a warm, almost tangible light. I gripped the microphone, took a deep breath, and launched into "Pink Pony Club."

"I know you wanted me to stay, but I can't ignore the crazy visions of me in LA..."

The crowd roared. I saw them instantly in the sea of faces. Matt, my boyfriend, standing tall and handsome, a smile plastered across his face that crinkled the corners of his eyes. Beside him, Nick and Chris, my other two best friends, practically bouncing with excitement. They knew this song, knew the story behind it. Leaving Tennessee, the whispers, the raised eyebrows - they knew it all.

"And I heard that there's a special place, where boys and girls can all be queens every single day,"

My voice soared and tears of happiness filled my eyes, fueled by the energy of the music and the love radiating from the front row. I winked at Matt as I sang "I'm having wicked dreams of leaving Tennessee," and he waved goofily, his eyes sparkling with pride. He understood, even if mom and dad back home never would.

The chorus hit, a tidal wave of sound.

"God, what have you done? You're a pink pony girl, and you dance at the club! Oh mama, I'm just having fun! On the stage in my heels, it's where I belong down at the Pink Pony Club!"

The crowd sang along, every single word. They were my people, they understood this beautiful, slightly chaotic world of West Hollywood. Tears sprung to my eyes as I pointed the microphone towards the crowd during the refrain, and they screamed the lyrics back at me, their faces flushed with joy.

The song pulsed with a raw energy. I strutted across the stage, my shimmering pink dress swaying with every move. I was lost in the music, in the lights, in the collective joy of everyone in the room.

During the second verse, I let my eyes sweep across the audience. There were girls with bows, cowgirl hats, beautiful dresses, and people dressed completely normal, all united by their love for music, (and Madison Beer). This was the "special place" I'd been singing about.

"I thank my wicked dreams a year from Tennessee, oh, Santa Monica, you've been too good to me." I belted out, feeling a surge of gratitude.

As the song neared its climax, I saw a couple making out passionately near the bar, bathed in the glow of the disco ball. I saw a group of friends taking selfies, their faces lit up with laughter. I saw someone crying, tears streaming down their face, lost in the emotion of the moment. Their stories are all different, but it brought them here nonetheless.

And then came the bridge, my favorite part of the song, the part that always brought a lump to my throat.

"Don't think I've left you all behind, still love you and Tennessee, you're always on my mind. And mama, every Saturday, I can hear your southern drawl a thousand miles away, saying..."

I paused, letting the silence hang in the air. The entire stadium held its breath.

"...God, what have you done?"

The chorus exploded again, even louder than before. I threw my head back and let the music wash over me, the feeling of belonging so strong it brought tears to my own eyes.

As the final notes faded, and the lights dimmed, the crowd erupted in applause. I bowed, breathless and exhilarated. I looked back at the front row. Matt was so amazed, clapping wildly. Nick and Chris were jumping up and down, beaming proudly.

This was it. This was my dream come true. This was where I belonged. And as I walked off stage, the echoes of "Pink Pony Club" still ringing in my ears, I knew, with every fucking fiber of my being, that I was going to keep on dancing.

authors note: this is from the pov of content creator and singer reader!!!

im at rock bottom writing wise, so the only place to go is up (Matt's ass)(jk jk)!!!

also ever since I watched Chappells grammy performance this song has had me in a chokehold

divider creds to the icon: @bernardsbendystraws

love ya, from maya [happy]

#chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo x reader #christopher sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo imagine #sturniolo smut #sturniolo #christopher owen sturniolo #christopher sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo fluff #matthew bernard sturniolo #sturniolo fandom

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satoshi-mochida · 2 years ago

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Fairy Fencer F: Refrain Chord releases today for the PS5, PS4, Switch and Steam.

#Fairy Fencer F: Refrain Chord #Fairy Fencer F #Idea Factory International #Compile Heart #SRPG

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melodyofthevoid · 1 month ago

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The Crane Wives: Beyond, Beyond, Beyond

(The finale, for now. Hard to believe that I've been working on these for almost 2 years. Anyways, enjoy)

Now we arrive at the threshold, album five. The first studio album in nearly a decade, and a testament to all that came before and between. Themed and defined by change in all its forms. The lack of, the desire for, the consequences in both its wake and absence. The price of moving forward and the price of standing still. Even the sound isn’t immune, with the newer tones and style developed over the singles shown off in solos that range from electric to more traditional. Some songs challenge ones from years past, others a continuation, but all part of an ongoing conversation that ends with resolve. A desire to cross through.

The question is, will you follow through the looking glass?

Scars

How did this happen? It’s a question that comes naturally whether or not there’s truly a reason. Why am I like this? The eternal feud of nature vs nurture, whether the tangled mess of anger and bitter emotions stemmed from a single event or bloom from somewhere within. If the well was poisoned before the symptoms started to show.

And does the source even know that they left the poison to begin with?

The first few chords warp those of another song, a crooning cry from a parent who’s severed the ties and left the singer adrift. Their mournful tone twisted and distorted until it turns into the sharp twangs of a guitar, heavy footfalls that drive the song forward. A tired trudge burdened and haunted.

The singer is not who they thought they were. The refrain that carries over and over again- starting each train of thought. They’re struggling to keep their head above water, aching in a way they’ve always known. Born to in a storm that left them with a piece of itself forever. The anguish hereditary. Or maybe there’s another reason. The effect is still the same. This misery is a constant companion,

Ruefully they acknowledge all of the effort put towards them, the love and kindness, plans made with all good intentions to guide them towards a brighter and better future. Futile efforts made to no avail. They watched as they failed time and time again, trying to cross the gap to understand where the singer was and give a way forward, but a bridge constructed from only one side is doomed to fail. Letting that hard work near them risked vulnerability and letting the other close.

And how could they let them close to who they are? Broken in some fundamental way from the beginning. Destined to fail and shatter leaving them scarred, to signal to the outside what was wrong within.

Then the subject switches from those who’d tried to help, to the origin of their suffering. The piece is a companion to “Never Love an Anchor”, and the one left behind sees only the abandonment, the fact they weren’t enough to stay for. The anguish their parent felt at their personal failings and inability to care for the singer now passed on, a wound to their ego. A tire fire, caustic and toxic that refuses to be put out.

They were meant to fall apart, to wind up with scars.

Because isn’t it easier if there weren’t any other options? If this flaw sabotaged all of the work put in and rendered it all futile? Then there’s no fault, no blame to be laid. An easy surrender to the inevitable.

The question is will they continue to live like this. To allow the scars to fester, or seek out a balm despite the pain. For now, they accept their fate as the music cuts all at once.

Bitter Medicine

Hard truths go down easier with a bit of sugar, you catch more flies with honey, axioms to explain the act. Of using a veil to cover up the unpleasant parts of life. Without it what’s left? Just the ugly, twisted, reality of it all. Sometimes it’s all you have. And it’s stifling.

The singer looks at where they are. Wasted, inebriated either in a literal or metaphorical sense. Unable to be trusted to take themselves home or to drive their own life. A pathetic state of affairs, one they’re all too aware of. It’s the bed they’ve made for themselves, the consequences of their actions they accept with a blithe and self-effacing smile. They wonder how the one they love sees them. If they’re ashamed or if the front they’ve put on until now. A cheap imitation of some “better” person that isn’t long for this world.

They could be worse, so much worse. Poison sits on their tongue and they swallow and bite it all back to keep it inside. The toxicity accumulates in their body and slowly kills them inside as it has nowhere else to go. No one else deserves it, to know how corroded and hollow they are on the inside. They’re sick, but they can’t let anyone in. They’ll play the part of everything they’re not in hopes it distracts and entertains but it’s hurting them just as much as the rest.

And if someone sees through it, what then? Can look past the facade? The singer both yearns for it and fears it in turn. They need someone to clean up the mess around them, the mess they’re unable to touch. The accumulation of a thousand small cuts bleeding out into a river. Each on their own barely noticeable but together they build upon each other.

Accepting an offered hand is another question in and of itself. Do they deserve it? Is it a gift given or is it taken? Someone’s else’s good intentions wasted on their act, for their own faults. It’d be a waste on them, and so they continue on as they were. Suffering in their own skin and hiding behind the mask that chokes them.

In another life, they’d let it all go, but this isn’t that life. The singer’s convinced this is all there is. Convinced that their arsenic laced words are medicine. The truth. But they’ve decided that it is.

And so it is.

Higher Ground

When you’re lost in the midst of an upheaval, when the earth itself is turning on its head, sometimes the only option, the only means of survival, is to go, to remove oneself from the situation. But there are things left behind, an impact not intended. A decision that can be as consequential as the event itself.

Such is the singer’s predicament. They’re trying to look out ahead, but they can’t see the horizon, can’t see beyond today. Higher ground could give them a better view, a larger picture and save them, but there’s a cost to that choice. A domino effect is spiraling out after they spoke their mind, let go of the truth. What’s done can’t be undone and now everything is changing, shifting. What once was close drifts apart, what once was parted clashes, titanic shifting of tectonic plates. Inexorable forces that leave nothing untouched.

And nothing undamaged. Someone’s going to get caught up, hurt. Once they come down they’ll see the full extent of it all and that terrifies them. But again, it’s out of their hands.

Every warning sign is flaring, ravens and crows are heralding incoming danger. A predator. A threat to everything in sight. But with all that they’ve set into motion, is the warning for them? Or about them? This wasn’t the plan, not to hurt anyone, not to change everything, but they won’t know for sure. Not until the dust settles and they stand above it all.

They’ve survived, at least.

Predator

When every shadow becomes a claw, every smile hides a threat, the world becomes an endless hall of mirrors, reflecting back all of one’s fears. Nowhere is safe, not when you’re the world’s prey.

“What’s the worst thing that could happen?” The rhetorical question, that to the anxious, isn’t rhetorical in the least. It’s the risk they measure the outside against, the guide to all actions. If they can imagine the worst possible outcome then it can be prepared for, warded against. Because disaster will come, inevitably. Staying on guard at all times, lest their comfort come at the cost of their safety (even if the sky is not falling, it’s easy to panic at every little crack. Perhaps they’re too prepared.)

When it hits, as it always does, it’s their own fault. They know better. They let in a predator, lowered their walls and their guard to someone who, not for the first time, left them wounded and vulnerable. Signs were missed that they’d seen before, a lesson they should have learned the hard way but failed to truly comprehend. So it’ll happen again.

Regardless of the fact that someone else took those actions. It’s their fault. It has to be.

To the prey animal, confrontation is to be avoided at all costs, so the response to danger is to fawn. Follow the path of least resistance and never put up a fight. If there’s a problem, it’s probably their own misinterpretation of the situation, because… If they say no, if they push back, there could be consequences. They could get hurt, cut by sharp teeth and sharper words.

But there’s only so much that someone can put up with and stand before it’s too much. Gaslighting finally igniting a spark of resistance. They’re already struggling to breathe, struggling with the constant anxiety and fear and this? They don’t need this too. What if they didn’t have to live like this anymore, and they finally said no?

And at last they confront at least one of their fears. Calling out their treatment, the fact they’ve been used. Trying to better this person, hoping that they’ll see the harm they’re causing on their own, they’ve done it a hundred times and it’s never happened. They keep getting hurt. The predator can’t see the blood on their teeth, doesn’t know their own strength, the bodies in their wake.

But no, not this time.

Say It

No one wants to be the first to leave. The first to sever ties. Admit defeat. Even in spite of years of change, of what once was withering on the vine, sometimes there’s still hope that the garden can recover, however impossible and slim. A loyal dog that waits, tied to a post, for an owner that won’t come back. Because what if it goes back to the way it used to be? That honeymoon phase where everything blossomed and bloomed. But it won’t.

The singer wonders where it went wrong? Staring at the person they once considered so close and begging for an answer. Was it them? Was the reality of their personality, their flaws, too much to bear? Erasing the idealized version that their partner once held of them? Were they, are they disappointing to know truly?

Without an answer, they demand a different one: tell them it’s done. Let them out. Let them stop hoping for a spark to rekindle the flame of passion. Otherwise they’ll remain there in the dark. Pining for better times.

Because once upon a time their lover gave them everything. Provided a haven and home. A gentle hand that wiped away their tears and pulled back their layers. All of those memories of warmth against the bitter cold of the present call into doubt their sincerity. Did they really care before? Was it all pretend?

Would it be better if it was?

The guillotine hangs over their head, a blade that could sever and end their suffering but instead hovers. A reminder that it could end at any point but won’t. They wait dutifully, a dog who can’t help but take what they’re given. Loyal and faithful even when that love and devotion isn’t returned.

But if it was real once, they would do it over again. Wouldn’t they? Or would the one the singer holds so dear choose to avoid their relationship altogether. To alter their paths so that they never met. Have things fallen apart to where it was never worth it in the first place? Is the thought of what they’ve become so toxic, so tainted, that they'd give up whatever good came of it to spare themselves?

The question lingers, and so the singer does nothing but wait, too afraid to take the first step.

Waiting for them to say it.

Mad Dog

A fruitless pursuit, an endless chase, the eternal drive to reach for that promised oasis shimmering just beyond the horizon a few steps away. There is no exit condition when a paycheck is all that stands between you and losing it all. Enter the workforce at 18 (or younger), keep working until you’re 72 (or older), then you can maybe lie down. Can’t grind yourself to the bone too early, can’t run out of steam yet. If just a little more money is made, a few more spare coins stuffed away for later, maybe it’ll resemble happiness.

The singer’s blinders keep them on the same track they’ve always known, striving to achieve when all it’s done is lead them further and further from home. Tunnel visioned and yet it’s never in reach. No matter how far they run. How hard they work.

But no one else is keeping their bills paid, no one else is going to make them a millionaire, so they keep repeating and repeating. Hoping that they’ll get an answer back that isn’t the same as before.

Thus, the chase continues, a dog chained to a post snapping after a rabbit it can never catch. Running, and running, and running, yet forever tied to the same spot. Once that leash runs out of room the retaliation snaps back with a vengeance. Punishing the hound for stepping out of its role and putting it “where it belongs”. Daring to yearn for more cannot be tolerated.

As if the empty race weren’t enough, there’s debt to be paid too. A rock burdening every step, forcing those bound to it to step lightly. Any misstep could spell disaster, drop the guillotine, it’s a constant tightrope cutting into their feet. And it’d be easier if someone else, anyone else, could choose which way to go. To give a direction that won’t lead to disaster. To take that burden off their shoulders.

Because water’s coming in, the debt’s getting worse, and they’re going to go down. The shore’s visible, it’s there, there’s something beyond the current situation, but it’s not getting any closer.

Whatever hope there is, it’s almost manic. The only thing keeping them afloat. Maybe they’ll get lucky and strike it rich, maybe they can make this paycheck go a little further. But there’s no support, no one to wipe their tears, keep them from teetering off of the edge.

So the race continues. The pull and snap, the desperate clawing up the hill until Sisyphus’ boulder falls back down again. Stuck in a cycle out of their control.

At least until they can find the one that chains them. They may not catch the rabbit, but they can bite a hand.

Arcturus Beaming

There’s something special about that moment at rock bottom. Not in the state of it, the despair, the agony, no. There’s something about that moment when it changes. Changes from an endlessly growing pit to… simply the bottom. A moment in time where suddenly the perspective shifts and now there’s a way out and up, a perspective changed by a sight once taken for granted. Maybe it’s the leaves changing in the fall, the sound of people laughing and talking in a cafe. A favorite drink you want to have again.

Or maybe, it’s the sky. That shimmering tapestry. Dotted with a trillion points of light (should you live far enough away from any pollution to see it) it has served as an inspiration for so many. Ever changing and yet… always there.

Arcturus glimmers as the 4th brightest star in the solar system, visible during summer in the northern hemisphere. Visible to those even in more light polluted areas, reminding them that there’s more out there than the limited vision of the pit.

The singer begins there, thanking that dark place, where despair threatened to ravage them. They hid from the world there, sheltering to wallow in their pain as it became all they could see for a time. It shrunk their view of what could be, leaving a feat that seems all but impossible. Plato describes a scenario in which a prisoner lives their entire life within a cave like the singer’s own, shown only shadows of objects. Those simulations as their only context, all that they know. But the singer is curious, and that fear can only hold them for so long. They may understand the cave, the pain, but what else is there?

Hurt accumulates over time, sediment that solidifies into a weight that’s carried wherever one goes. It can be an impossible challenge to free oneself of it, to breathe easy after lifting that stone for years. One’s ribs aching from the strain. But stone is not permanent. Not invulnerable. A steady drip of water can erode, a river can carve a canyon so impossibly wide it’s visible from beyond our atmosphere. Those layers, both easily added, can also be worn away. Leaving something new in its wake.

That time spent has a cost, of course. Dreams left abandoned, relationships broken, so many avenues that could have been simply… gone. That grief will linger, and that’s alright. But what exists beyond that? What happens when we look up and dream?

Beyond what we know, beyond what we understand, are there others who look at our sun and wonder? Beyond ourselves are there others crawling out of their caves and seeing more. Maybe we could all dream more

It’s not too late to do something once the revelation hits. To forfeit is the only ending, when we resign ourselves to suffering. But that’s not all life is, it can be changed. We just have to do it. Have to take the steps to push past the indulgent self-flagellation of the cave, and resolve to keep moving.

This experience rings true for myself. I found I’d dug into a mindset where I feared so much. The future, stagnation, the impossibility of becoming anything other than what I was. Littered with the half started remains of failures, hesitant half starts cushioned by a numb resignation. Couldn’t be disappointed if I never hoped. Cycles of self defeat. Overwhelmed, I laid on the deck outside and stared up into the same sky that inspired this song. Clear inky darkness pinpointed by a million specks of light. I laid there for some time, the same music I’ve detailed in these pages my only companion to a realization that felt so obvious in hindsight and yet I… I needed to come to the conclusion myself.

I can start again.

It doesn’t matter if I’ve tried a hundred times and the patterns didn’t stick. I can try again. Old behaviors, failed coping mechanisms, they can rear their ugly heads but there is tomorrow. There is a future that I can find. A me I can guide with new tools if the old ones don’t serve me. It may take time, it may hurt. But that’s my decision to make.

Nothing will change until I change. And we can.

Time Will Change You

The constant, the inevitable, the sensation of sand slipping through fingers and waves wearing down a shore. A metronomic beat follows the sound of a rusted hinge, thudding footsteps from a never ending march that never relents even as a guitar twangs above it. A companion in the flow.

The singer too is dragged along with it, pulled along as they almost gasp out the words. It hurts, some part deep inside them finally gave way and broke. It aches and it won’t end- They’ve loved and lost, planted the remains of their heart into a grave, a seed watered by their grief that may or may not bear fruit again.

And yet there is a twisted comfort on the horizon. Time will continue as it always does, seasons will pass, and with it, things change. For better or worse the singer will change. Everyone will change, and as they do they’ll leave behind what remains stagnant. Phases and traits that once defined are now locked in amber. No longer a part of the present.

Time doesn’t affect all equally, there is no system that doles out appropriate fates, some can swim and survive the current while others are subsumed entirely. The rush overwhelming in the moment, and it’s impossible to tell which way is up. But the tide will ease, nothing is forever, good or ill. Relax, let time move you and you’ll float along it.

And you’ll be changed. Like the stone smoothed by a river, edges worn away, the place you once rested, now far in the past.

And letting go takes effort, make no mistake. Healing even more so. If the grief never grows, doesn’t evolve, doesn’t become more than what was put there before, then it can stay where it is. Left to fade into nothing more than memory. A step along the winding path to the end.

The journey no one leaves the same.

Black Hole Fantasy

The concept of a black hole needs no explanation nor introduction. The complete and total collapse of a star, pulling in all light and substance. The basis of many a metaphor for endless hunger, destruction. The end of all things. Yet- they’re often theorized to contain more. Maybe the end of one thing could lead to somewhere else entirely.

For her part, the singer finds herself stuck in place, whether by some inexorable gravity or circumstance. Repeating the same orbit, going through the motions of life and losing sense of herself. If there’s more to living, a chance or opportunity for a different path, it’s fading from view. The longer one stays complacent, the harder it becomes to move. To find that missing piece that their soul longs for, but doesn’t have the words for.

Every day blends into the next, the walls of their home becoming smaller as their world shrinks. At the center lies the Black Hole, the gnawing yearning, the pit of absence that they’re ignoring. Hoping it will go away, but it won’t. Ignoring hunger won’t fix a want of food, pretending not to hear a leak won’t prevent the damage.

And they know what they’re yearning for, or rather- who. But it’s- surely it’s nothing. Nothing more than a chemical reaction, serotonin and oxytocin playing tricks on her. It’d be easier if she could suppress it. She doesn’t know if it’s real, and so what if it is? Confessing, taking a chance… There’s a cost. The foundations she’d build could all crumble to ashes.

That is if the hole in their chest doesn’t collapse it all first, the time lost to routine is getting longer, time speeding by even faster, with whole weeks passing in an indistinct mass.

So she goes to confront it head on, driving to confess on the doorstep. But then she stops. What happens next. What happens if it all goes wrong? What if they lose them forever? What if they don’t feel the same? How could they feel the same. The singer doesn’t believe in a happy ending, frankly. Why would any dream of theirs have one? Even in the best case there’s so much that could go wrong that it’d be safer to leave the car running. To leave. Retreat back into themselves where they won’t get hurt.

But the world keeps crumbling in around them, their room is suffocating, as they’re consumed by the limitations they’ve put in place. Months, years, what does any of it even mean? None of it means anything… and the temptation to look into the black hole finally wins out.

Instead of a small, enclosed world, there’s more on the other side. She catches a glimpse of herself and there’s light in her eyes, laughter on her lips, and- is she even capable of that? Could she be? Can she find what could bring that life, that joy, that love-

No, she does know.

Stars shining above, the singer returns to the dream she shows away from once. But this time she’s turning off the car. This is what she wants. Throwing away the keys and the fear and running up to the door. And it opens. Their love is there and every doubt is gone as arms reach out for her.

Wrapped in an embrace, the singer can finally catch her breath, and when she pulls back, she smiles. Laughing at how complicated she made this simple moment. Maybe she wasn’t alone in that, as her love joins her. They were waiting on the other side of the door, after all. Twin stars pulled into each other’s gravity, destroying what was before and starting something new.

Gentle guitar replaces the singer as she walks towards her new life, no longer bound to what was. Closing the scene, rolling credits.

Red Clay

Work harder, just put more effort into it, the struggle makes it worth it, nose to the grindstone, phrases that are ingrained into the zeitgeist. The more pain experienced, the better the outcome.

Right?

An endless climb up a clay mountain, never fully able to get a grip, a Sisyphean struggle that feels like reality. With the Sun beating down, the top never coming closer, the question occurs: what is this for? Why keep pursuing this path that’s only lead to more suffering? Suffering that’s self inflicted no less.

That one pause is all it takes to break through the tunnel vision, for the singer to take in all of their surroundings. Another path, shaded and just within reach was there all along. They don’t need to do this “the hard way”. It may be all they’d known, but they can see beyond that mound now.

Their struggle wasn’t for naught, they were afraid for many years, yes. But they understand their fear now, they can be brave, even with that fear. They don’t have to keep on this path.

The shaded trees beacon.

River Rushing

Something finally gave. The frustration mounting day by day, it’s too much. Dammed up and now the singer’s had enough. They’re breaking down the walls, the barriers, everything that keeps them crushed under the weight of their regrets. They’re going to change. To let loose their desires and follow the river.

The singer craves freedom, the person they once were buried under layers of concrete and expectations. If they hold onto these regrets, all the grief of time wasted, then they’ll never grow. Beneath every thought is the phrase they know is true: that there’s no shortcuts here. The only way out is through, charging ahead no matter what.

Maybe they hesitated before, waited too long and lost something. Someone. But a voice reassures them to hold themselves steady. To go when they’re ready. Because they are ready now.

Just believing that everything will work out kept them in place, they’re full of defiance, they have bite, a voice that demands to be heard. They’re going to pry the hand around their throat off once and for all. They’ve set their mind to it.

They’re ready to go beyond.

#my writing #the crane wives #so some final stats #final word count: 24801 #BBB page count: 10 #word count: 4551 #I started this little project back on Jan 27 2023 #Completed* on Jan 15 2025 #wild times #thank you for following along with this!#I might go back and touch up SSH or I might not #but I'm really happy with how these turned out

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ceoofsammonroe · 7 months ago

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Cherry - Clay Beresford

Summary: As your visits with Clay continue, you find it harder and harder to maintain the personal boundaries you had set for yourself. You also find it harder to refrain from breaking the rules…

Warnings: angst, more pining, like ridiculous down bad pining, strip tease, pole dancing, descriptions of sex work, alcohol consumption, teasing, begging (oop 👀), vague somewhat poetic description of a sex dream?

Playlist | Masterlist

For someone who’d spent most of their life running from connection, you’d found yourself fighting off thoughts of Clay less and less.

Maybe there wasn’t such harm in a little indulgence. Perhaps it wasn’t catastrophic to allow someone to get to know a few simple things about you. It was all confined safely within the walls of that private room, the veil of anonymity still a comfort…

How bad could it possibly be?

Besides, you couldn’t remember the last time you’d had a friend. Honestly, you didn’t really know how to have a friend.

Especially one as pretty as he was.

Much to your disdain, you’d started becoming excited to go in to work for the chance that he may be there. You’d put a little extra effort in your appearance, preparing some of the sexier dances, hoping he’d be in the audience when you walked out onto that stage.

A week passed with no sign of him.

You’d started to lose that sliver of hope that had been budding inside of you for the first time in a very long time.

Of course, this had just been a distraction to him. He’d said so himself. It had been foolish of you to allow yourself to think it could have been anything more.

You clocked in for your final shift of the week, feeling heavy as you were grounded back to reality.

You set your things down at your station, sighing as you looked at your reflection. That faint light that had been shimmering in your eyes had dimmed again, replaced by your usual shadows.

Changing into one of your costumes, you busied your mind with hair and makeup. You’d been so zoned out that you hadn’t even noticed Frenchie sitting down next to you, ranting away.

“That’s when I told him— Hey! Babes! Are you even listening to me?” Frenchie asked, snapping her fingers and turning in her chair with an exaggerated pout.

“Yeah, sorry, French,” you said, an apologetic sigh escaping your lips. “I’m just out of it today.”

“Ah,” she nodded, understanding settling on her face. “Still no sign of Mr. Admirer, huh?”

“What?” Your eyes widened as you shook your head, looking away from her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Please,” she drawled, rolling her eyes. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed you leaving those little private bookings with a new fire in your eyes.”

“I’m doing my job, Frenchie, that’s it,” you defended, shrugging as you stood up to get ready to go on stage. “Anyways, I have a set to go do, so…”

You took off your robe and hung it up, eager to get away from this conversation as you moved toward the front.

“Live a little, doll,” Frenchie called after you. “You can’t hide on that stage forever.”

Her words struck a chord within you.

You can’t hide on that stage forever.

You couldn’t stop hearing them repeat in your mind, antagonizing you over and over again. You closed your eyes, standing behind the curtain and taking a deep breath.

The moment the music began and the spotlight hit you, the thoughts were silenced. You became the well-oiled machine you’d learned to be, leaving everything else aside as you played your part.

You stepped out onto the stage, relishing in the whoops and cheers from the crowd as the bills started flying. You moved with grace and poise, seduction a second language as you danced to the music.

Pandering to the crowd, you owned the stage. Blowing kisses, pouting, giving them everything they desired. You nearly stopped dead in your tracks, however, when your gaze met a pair of piercing blue eyes.

His lips quirked up into a grin, watching you with more intent than any other person in the audience. You couldn’t help but grin back, feeling an unfamiliar warmth washing over you.

You danced the rest of your set with a renewed vigor, knowing he was watching you. He was the only one in the crowd that mattered. You never once took your eyes off of him, feeling as though it was only the two of you in that room — as if this was as much of a private show as your usual meetings.

As your set ended, you gave him a wink before sauntering off of the stage. Sal met you backstage with no time wasted and simply grunted, “Room four.”

Feeling stupidly giddy, you masked the look of excitement that threatened to show on your face and nodded. You snuck into one of the dressing booths, changing into a new lingerie set you’d gotten for the next time he showed up — a tiny, lacy number.

Red. His favorite.

Practically sprinting down the hallway, you stopped before room four and took a deep breath. You weren’t wanting him to see the extent of your excitement just yet. You were still weary of divulging just how much he affected you.

You opened the door, leaning against it as you eyed him with a smirk.

“I was wondering when I’d see you again, pretty boy.”

Clay’s eyes widened at the sight of you, his breath catching in his throat. His gaze trailed over your body as he swallowed, thickly.

“Well, now,” he said, clearing his throat and smiling at you with his ever-present charm. “If it isn’t my favorite dancer.”

You smiled coyly at him, glancing over to see a bucket of ice with a bottle of champagne sitting by the couch.

“You remembered,” you said, walking further into the room. “I was beginning to think that you weren’t coming back at all.”

“How could I resist the allure of your company, Cherry,” he grinned, sliding his hands into his pockets. “I must admit, I missed our conversations.”

“Where have you been the past few nights, then?” You asked, jokingly masking the genuine curiosity. “Bringing your stories to different strip clubs?”

Clay chuckled, shaking his head.

“I’ve been working,” he replied, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “A new project has taken up most of my time.” His gaze softened as he paused to look at you. “Trust me, I was counting the days until I could come see you again. You’re worth waiting for, Cherry.”

Of course he was working. He was a billion-dollar CEO for chrissakes. You felt silly for even wondering why he hadn’t been at the club.

It was easy to forget that you both existed outside of this room.

“Well, since you’re my favorite customer,” you joked, winking at him, “I thought maybe I could show you a new routine I’ve been working on for the club — give you the first sneak peak.”

Clay’s face lit up, a smile pulling at his lips.

“I’d be honored, Cherry,” he said, enthusiastically. “Please, show me.”

He settled back into the couch, his gaze never leaving you as he eagerly awaited for whatever you wanted to show him.

You gave him a cheeky smirk, walking over to dim the lights to a hazy red. You turned the stereo on to play a deep, sensual melody.

“I wanted to incorporate the pole more during my sets,” you said, walking toward the silver pole in the middle of the room. “I think it’s such an underrated art form, and it requires far more strength and skill than people realize. You can be my test bunny, pretty boy. You can tell me if you think it would earn a few bucks.”

Keeping your gaze locked on him, you raised your arms above your head and grasped the cold metal. You slowly slid down in front of the pole, spreading your knees before easing back up. You walked around, keeping one hand grasping it, and lifted yourself onto it. You wrapped your legs around the spinning beam, moving your arms fluidly as you spun gracefully.

Clay watched you, completely mesmerized by your movements. His chest heaved with heavy breaths as his hands gripped the edge of the couch.

He was entranced, drinking in the sight of you. You were a masterpiece, a living work of art.

When you finally stopped, he felt his heart pounding in his chest.

“You’ll earn every buck and then some,” he breathed out, his voice hoarse. He cleared his throat, a hint of embarrassment creeping onto his face. “That was…breathtaking.”

“Yeah?” You smirked at him, sauntering over toward the couch. You leaned over him, coming as close to straddling him as you could without actually making contact. “What were your thoughts?”

Clay inhaled, sharply, his heart pounding at the closeness. His gaze traveled over you before locking on your eyes.

“My thoughts?” Clay repeated, his voice husky. “I thought…” He paused, swallowing hard as his breathing stuttered. “I thought I was witnessing something magical, Cherry. Something pure and wild all at once.”

“What about the new costume?” You trailed your fingers along the red lace, batting your lashes at him. “I was wanting to try this out, too.”

Clay’s eyes followed the movement of your fingers, his breath hitching quietly.

“It suits you perfectly, Cherry,” he said, thickly, fighting the urge to reach out and touch the material himself. “It’s bold and seductive…just like you.”

“I thought you might like it,” you giggled, biting down on your bottom lip to suppress your grin.

“I definitely do,” he murmured. “Very definitely.” His gaze travelled up and down the length of your body, taking in the red fabric hugging all of the right places. “Is it…” He licked his lips. “Is it also for the stage, or is it just for…these meetings?”

Your stomach swooped at the look of desire in his eyes. Normally, you felt sickened by the way people ogled you in these outfits. His gaze was different. It didn’t make you feel like an object. It made you feel…alive.

“You want me to keep this one just for you?” You asked, cocking your head to the side. You leaned down to whisper next to his ear. “That doesn’t sound like something a friend would ask.”

Clay’s breath caught in his throat, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. The warmth radiating from you sent a thrill throughout his body.

“No,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “It doesn’t.” He looked up at you with pleading eyes as his heart pounded. “Keep it for me, Cherry. Please.”

Your pulse rushed as his request, the ‘please’ doing more to your resolve than you cared to admit.

“If you insist, pretty boy,” you grinned. “Besides, the other people at this club don’t deserve to see it.”

You continued to dance to the music as you hovered over his lap. Bringing your hands up to the brassiere, you teased the straps and lowered the cups ever so slightly.

Clay gasped, softly, his eyes widening. Each movement you made sent a jolt through him, his body tense beneath you.

“What are you doing, Cherry?” He asked, his voice strained. It was a question filled with equal parts awe and desperation.

“I’m doing my job, pretty boy,” you told him, innocently.

You let the straps hang off your shoulders, barely concealing what was underneath. You trailed your fingers down your stomach, teasingly running them underneath the top of the red lace panties.

You knew that you had to follow the rules, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t have a bit of fun testing them.

“I’m paid to tempt and tease,” you whispered, arching your back slightly. “To keep people wanting more.”

Clay’s eyes were locked on you, never even blinking for fear of missing a single second of the show you were giving him. His body grew hot beneath you, the desire pulsing within him.

“Then do your job, Cherry,” he spoke, lowly. “Make me want more.”

You were too far gone in the moment, too lost in him to pull back now. You knew that you were playing a dangerous game, but you were becoming drunk on the desire radiating off of him — the desire you felt for him.

You moved the waistband of the red lace panties down, letting them rest dangerously low on your hips.

“Why don’t I tell you a story this time?” You suggested, hovering your face just inches away from his. “I think you’d find it…very entertaining.”

“Yes,” he breathed, his eyes following your every move. “Tell me a story.” He tried to calm his breathing. “Please, Cherry.” He closed his eyes, his mind already painting vivid images.

“This is the story of a girl who forgot how to dream,” you began, whispering the words tantalizingly close to his ear. “Night after night, for as long as she could remember, she never dreamed. Her sleep was occupied by a vast nothingness, lulling her slumber. Until one night. One night, she wasn’t met with that vast nothingness. Instead, she was met with a handsome stranger.”

Clay listened, his eyes still closed. The story, paired with your closeness, was driving him mad. His heart pounded in his chest, his breath panting. He tried to concentrate, to listen to the story. Each word you spoke fueled the fire inside of him. He could almost feel you, smell you, taste you.

“Go on,” he pleaded, his voice thick.

“The handsome stranger looked at her with dazzling blue eyes,” you continued, “and said he knew of a dance that they could do together. Slowly, he removed her clothes and then his own, until they both stood before each other baring their deepest desires. Then, the dance began. He reached out to touch her, tracing every inch of her body with curious, tender fingers. The dreamless girl thought she could feel his touch, too, as she laid asleep in her bed. He touched her — teasingly, longingly — until every last barrier had been torn away and she was left floating in want. She was willing to beg him to give her more, but she wanted to participate in this dance, too. She let her hands snake around his body, feeling every ripple of muscle and crevice of skin that she could find. She felt the goosebumps rise on his skin as her nails scratched symphonies against it. Then, slowly, achingly, she grabbed the part of him that desired her most. She stroked and tugged, eliciting the sweetest music from his mouth. He stopped her, dangling on the brink. He told her that they needed to finish the dance together.”

Clay’s eyes fluttered open, his breath coming out in ragged gasps. He looked at you, his eyes filled with need and longing.

“Finish the dance,” he whispered. His body trembled, his hands gripping the couch tightly. “I want to finish the dance, Cherry.” His mind was lost in the story you told, in the world you’d created.

“They finished the dance, pulling on one another’s desires, plucking the right strings that made the other fall apart. They reached the height of the dance together, releasing a fever pitch scream that sounded like the sweetest instrument ever heard,” you spoke, your voice trailing off into a teasing moan. “The dreamless girl awoke in a pool of her own desire, swearing she could still feel the remnants of the handsome stranger’s touch.”

Clay’s eyes burned with desire, his body tense with anticipation. He could feel the heat radiating between you, the tension coiling tighter with every word.

“Cherry,” he breathed out, desperately. “Please.”

He knew that you had to stop, but he couldn’t bear the thought of losing this moment — of breaking the spell.

“Please what, pretty boy?” You taunted him, gazing down into his eyes.

“Don’t stop,” he whispered, his voice shaking. “Please, don’t stop.” He struggled to maintain control, his desire screaming for release. “I don’t want this to end.”

You needed to get control of the situation. You were in far too deep, and it was becoming dangerous. Still, you couldn’t stop from pushing it further.

“What if I said there was more truth than tale to that story?” You asked, looking into his desire-filled eyes. “What if the girl in the story was me? What if I dreamed about you — about touching you? What if I woke up spent from the thought of you?”

“Cherry…” Clay groaned, the idea sending bolts of electricity through his veins.

“What if I told you that I bought this knowing that I only wanted to wear it for you?” You teased the lady red fabric again, feeling your heart pounding beneath your fingers. “What if I never had any intention of letting anyone else see it?”

“Cherry,” he panted, his voice trembling. “Please…”

He didn’t know what he was asking for, he just knew that he needed more. More of you. More of this moment.

You let out a soft sigh, cocking your head to the side as you asked, “Do you want more, pretty boy?”

“Yes, more,” he nodded, frantically. “I want more, Cherry.”

A playful smirk tugged at your lips as you said, “Then I suppose I’ve done my job well.”

At that moment, the timer rang to signal the end of the session.

You climbed off of him, fixing your clothing and downing the glass of champagne that was sitting on the table.

“Until next time, pretty boy,” you said, pausing by the door. “I’ll see you in my dreams.”

Clay struggled to catch his breath as you left the room, running his hand through his hair as he tried to collect himself.

“Fuck,” he breathed, licking his lips that had gone dry. He glanced down at his lap, noticing the obvious tent in his pants and groaned. “Fuck.”

Your mind was racing as you walked back to the dressing room.

You should not have done that.

You had never been so stupid or careless. He had invaded your senses, made you reckless.

You had pushed it too far. You had indulged in his world of story and fantasy, but it had felt so good. It had made you feel alive, for the first time in a very long time.

“I take it Mr. Admirer showed up after all,” Frenchie’s smug voice rang out as you walked up to your vanity.

“What makes you think that?” You asked, silently cursing the breathlessness of your voice.

“You mean other than that new little lacy number you’ve got on?” Frenchie laughed, raising a brow. She walked toward you, gently cupping your cheek as her eyes softened. “You’ve got the fire, sweetness.”

As she walked away, you glanced in the mirror. You nearly gasped at the sight. Your face was flushed with color and your eyes were shining in a way you’d never seen. You looked like an entirely different person.

A part of you had been sleeping for so long and, finally, you looked awake.

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