#their acceptance of that pain and continuing to look at the world

[fakeusernamelol]

I GOT THIS IDEA STUCK IN MY HEAD PLEASE HEAR ME OUT (tw for Transphobia, Misogyny and Noncon. Ford's a huge shit here sorry 😶‍🌫️)

Stanley came out as a trans man in his teenhood but nobody in his family, including ford, accepted him. Let's be honest It's the 60s and stanley kinda expected it 🤷 but he didn't expected that ford would also reject his identity, but also reacted so roughly towards that.

Ford saw that as a huge waste of potential and that pissed him a lot, how could his sister do that? She was a beauty! She had a sensual and beautiful body with round and wide hips, a prominent breast, and a soft and round face with big lips and long eyelashes that highlighted her femininity. Any man with half a brain (included him) could see how of appetizing stanley was but now she wanted to ruined it!

He was very annoyed his sister continued with that crap of trying to stop being called by her real name and instead being called «stanley» and pretending to be a man, he got angrier that she started to use more manly jeans instead of those cute shorts that highlighted her beautiful chubby thighs or that skirts that the breeze of the sea raised occasionally, he noticed how she was using tighter bras to compress her chest a bit but the last straw that ended with ford's tolerance was when he caught stanley cutting his beautiful long hair in the bathroom. Stanley ended up killing the beautiful woman she was and Ford couldn't stand it, he can't let his sister ruin herself anymore, he needed to make her come to her senses again before she tried anything else.

Ford was a man of words wasn't he? But sometimes words aren't enough, he needed to make sure stanley knew that she wasn't that man she was saying he was, that she was a beautiful woman made for him a lucky man to have a family with just like any other woman. And knowing none of their parents wouldn't complain because they also weren't according to stanley's stupid ideas, he was going to make a favour to all.

«Look at you darling, No man would have a body like yours, you were made to carry beautiful babies, our babies.

You were made for me, [ ]. You love me, don't you? If you do,

Stop hurting yourself with this, stop allucinating. »

Stanley could just sob while begging ford to stop touching him, to stop saying those things to him while he was shamelessly groping his body and thrusting himself inside stanley roughly in the bathroom floor. The pain wasn't only physical, Ford was the most important person in his life, he loved his brother like no one else in the world but why was his dear brother doing this to him, why was he hurting him? why can't he accept him? Is that how he had always secretly saw him all this time? Did he deserve it? He shouldn't have said nothing. When Ford's finished, stanley was clear that he was never going to call himself a man again.

[impossible-rat-babies]

I’ve also been rotating an AU where eyrie is a shard of Hermes and it’s been UNBEARABLE !

[yuukiiqwq]

Satoru Gojo was more than ready to propose to you. For you to be his pretty little wife. For you to take his last name. To see you walk down the aisle in a white dress. He has spent weeks picking out a ring for you. Weeks finding the perfect place to propose. Weeks just for this moment. He knows you'll say yes.

Today was the day he would propose. He had everything all set up and ready. The ring box is in his pocket. He just needs to come home to you and get you ready for the date. He had long made a promise to himself. He'll make you happy because you are the world to him.

He then felt a vibration in his pocket from his phone, immediately snapping him out of his thoughts. He opened his phone to see that Shoko had called him. He accepted the call and was about to ask Shoko what she needed before she interrupted him.

"Satoru."

Satoru immediately freezes. Shoko had never called him by his first name. It was always Gojo.

"Come to my office," was the only thing Shoko said before ending the call. Her voice was shaking.

Dread filled Satoru's body. A chill was sent down his spine. Something was wrong, so he immediately teleported to Shoko's office. He was greeted with the sight of Shoko, his students, and you. The students' eyes red from crying. Shoko is unable to look him in the eyes. You covered in blood. Your curse energy completely diminished. Your lifeless body is on the table.

Oh. Oh.

"I'm sorry, sensei! It's all my fault!" Yuji apologies as he cries.

"She saved us." Nobara whispered as she continued to wipe her endless tears.

"We let our guard down." Megumi looks down. He was holding in his pain. "It's my fault. I was careless. They were wrong about–"

Satoru doesn't register the rest of Megumi's word. His ears were ringing, and his vision was blurring. A void in replacement of his heart. The ring in his pocket felt a lot heavier. He stares at your body before closing his eyes. He then turned toward his students with a smile.

"Hey, hey! It's alright, guys. It's not your fault. It was an accident! Don't blame yourself. It's not your fault at all. How about you guys take the next few days to relax! I'm sure this was very traumatic for you to lose a teacher in front of your eyes!"

"Gojo–" Megumi started, but he was pushed out the door with his friends before he could utter another word.

"Here, take my card and buy some stuff to help you take your mind off this, yeah? You guys need rest!" Satoru says as he closes the door. He's glad that he has his blindfold on so the students couldn't see the grief and pain in his eyes. He waited until he could no longer sense their curse energy before turning around towards you and Shoko.

"Shoko. Can you leave too? Just for a bit?" He asked. No. He pleaded. His voice was no higher than a whisper. He can't cry yet. Not in front of anyone but you. He's the strongest.

Shoko nodded and walked towards the door. "I'm sorry, Satoru. I tried to save her. I know today was suppose–" Shoko stopped before she finished the sentence. She bit the bottom of her lips before apologizing once more and then left.

Now, Satoru was left alone in the room with your lifeless body. He took off his blindfold and walked up to you. He held your once warm hand in his. He caressed your cheek as the tears that he was holding back finally fall down his face. He was going to propose to you today. You were supposed to be his wife. You were supposed to be with him until the day he died. But now... he would no longer see you. Your smile. Your laugh. You would no longer be smiling at him. In his arms. In his embrace. He wouldn't get to see your beautiful eyes open. Your voice. He wouldn't be able to hear your love for him. He won't be able to hear your "I love you, Satoru." You would no longer call his name. Oh, how he loved his name coming from your lips. It was supposed to be one of his happiest days. If he could only go back to yesterday. Where you were still in his arms, the two of you whispering your love to one another. Kisses being exchanged. Where you were still warm and alive. Where he can still stretch out his hand and reach you.

Fate loves taunting him with his loved ones. It loves to ruin him. To tear him apart. To rip his heart out and shred it to pieces because he's the strongest. So he'll always fail to protect the ones he loves. Fate is laughing at him because he is a joke. Fate is celebrating his grief. He has losted and fate has won again.

He doesn't know how much time has passed. Him next to your lifeless body, praying that you would just wake up. He wants to join you. Join you in the afterlife. To see you. To be with you. But he can't. He knows you'll never forgive him if he did. He still has his students to look after. A world to save. A revenge to sought after. He wiped his tears away because you would hate seeing him cry. He kissed you gently for the last time and whispered his eternal love towards you and a "I'll see you soon."

He then reached into his pocket and pulled out the ring. Your ring. He slipped it onto your ring finger and asked– "Will you marry me?"

A yes forever unspoken.

[vunblr]

Wounds and Walls

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Millennial!Female Reader

Warnings: 18+ only. Smut. Unprotected sex. A little angst.

Summary: Bucky starts to walk into his new civilian life but struggles with his painful past, while slowly building a connection with someone who sees through his walls. As the relationship deepens, he must decide if he’s ready for something more, or if he’ll hide and push it all away.

Word Count: About 12k.

note: Revised version. It is the first fic I wrote after many years away from writing and I wasn't entirely happy with the result, so here we are.

Before the government officially recognized Bucky as a victim of Hydra’s manipulation and mandated his participation in Dr. Raynor’s therapy program to avoid prison or other legal consequences, S.H.I.E.L.D. had already stepped in. They proposed a more unconventional approach, enlisting Y/n, a mutant with the extraordinary ability to heal not just physical wounds, but mental and emotional scars. Her mission was clear: stabilize Bucky to reintegrate into civilian life, ensuring he posed no harm to others or himself.

At first, he resisted any form of help from her. His reluctance wasn’t just about pride; it was rooted in years of distrust and the unshakable belief that he had to face his past alone. The idea of a “quick fix” only made him more skeptical, feeding the suspicion that she might be just another tool for the government to keep him under control, another reminder of how he had been manipulated and weaponized as the Winter Soldier.

The Blip had taken an even greater toll on him. The sudden shift in society forced him to adapt to yet another unfamiliar world, one where even the tiny constants he relied on were gone. Steve’s departure cut deeper than he wanted to admit; Bucky had thought they’d face this new world together, brothers in arms like always. Instead, Steve had abandoned him, leaving him to shoulder the weight of his demons alone. It was a wound Bucky hadn’t even begun to process, and one that made accepting help from anyone feel impossible.

Despite his initial resistance, her patient and steady approach began to wear down his defenses. Bucky clung to his reserved, cynical attitude, but he grudgingly allowed himself to cooperate. Slowly, the barriers between them started to lower. Eventually, once it was determined on paper that Bucky was stable and no longer posed a threat, the government had the justification it needed to loosen its grip and adopt a more lenient approach to monitoring his progress. His sessions with her came to an official end, and he was granted a conditional release, with the requirement that he continue regular therapy sessions with Dr. Raynor.

As part of his reintegration, Bucky was “strongly encouraged” to take up temporary residence in a carefully selected apartment building. It wasn’t long before he made a startling discovery: Y/n “coincidentally” lived in the same building, and even more “coincidentally,” in the apartment next door. Bucky couldn’t shake the suspicion that someone had orchestrated this arrangement, placing her nearby as a subtle, silent support system.

She hadn’t expected to see Bucky in the hallway of her apartment building. It had been a perfectly ordinary afternoon until she spotted him, effortlessly carrying what looked like bags of clothes in one hand while balancing a microwave over his opposite shoulder like it weighed nothing. When their eyes met, she caught the fleeting shock on his face before he quickly masked it, his expression slipping into something more neutral.

Curious and more than a little suspicious, she approached him with raised eyebrows. They exchanged awkward pleasantries—Bucky, ever the man of few words, offered a brief explanation: the government had rented the apartment for him as part of his continued reintegration.

It felt almost too convenient. Her thoughts immediately flickered to S.H.I.E.L.D., and she couldn’t help but suspect they’d had a hand in this arrangement. Maybe someone wants me to work for free, she mused with a wry smile

Their mismatched schedules during the week meant they rarely crossed paths, and for a while, their lives remained parallel but distant. Sundays, however, became the exception—though not intentionally at first. It started one rainy weekend when the power went out in the building, and she’d knocked on his door, flashlight in hand, to check if he needed anything. She’d half-expected him to brush her off, but to her surprise, he opened the door and invited her in, muttering something about “safety in numbers” as he gestured toward his couch.

They spent the evening with candles flickering between them, sharing the leftovers she’d brought over and exchanging stilted small talk that eventually gave way to a more comfortable quiet. He didn’t share much, but he didn’t seem to mind listening as she filled the gaps with anecdotes and idle chatter.

The next Sunday, she knocked on his door to ask for sugar for a cake she was baking, half-expecting him not to have any. To her surprise, he did. When she mentioned the cake, she noticed a flicker of interest in his usually blank expression. Feeling a little bold, she offered to bring him a slice as thanks. He doubted but eventually nodded, admitting that he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had homemade food.

Later, when she knocked again to deliver the cake, he opened the door looking awkward, but unexpectedly offered her coffee in return. She hesitated for only a moment before stepping inside. He was watching a documentary about the '90s, and as they sat with their mismatched mugs, the screen played a segment on music. The first notes of Step by Step by New Kids on the Block filled the room, and she couldn’t help but laugh, confessing that she used to love the song as a kid and would dance to it in her living room at five years old. He let out a barely-there smile, the kind that vanished almost as quickly as it came. It wasn’t much, but it felt significant, like the first stone in a bridge being laid.

Over time, Sundays became their unspoken ritual. Sometimes they’d watch movies or documentaries. Other times, they’d just sit together, her talking while he listened, occasionally nodding or grunting in response.

She never pressed him to talk, and he appreciated the lack of expectation. Her presence was steady, unobtrusive, and comforting, like the soft hum of a fan on a hot day, something he hadn’t realized he needed until it became a constant.

As time passed, something shifted between them, and Bucky began to open up, little by little. The cracks in his walls revealed glimpses of the man beneath the brooding exterior, and she couldn’t help but notice the subtle changes. His shoulders seemed less tense during their Sunday hangouts, and he started to relax more on the couch. Occasionally, there was a slight uptick in his voice when he shared a rare observation or commented on a movie. Though he wasn’t exactly chatty, she could tell he was trying. His words were sparse but deliberate, and as he grew more comfortable, he began to contribute to their conversations in his understated way. A dry comment here, a thoughtful observation there, his eyes met hers more often, and the silences between his responses felt less heavy, settling into something warm and companionable.

As the weeks turned into months, she realized her feelings for him were beginning to shift too. Thoughts of Bucky started to linger beyond their casual Sunday hangouts. It wasn’t just the time they spent together that stayed with her; it was the way she found herself worrying about him on the days they didn’t cross paths, or when he seemed more withdrawn during their conversations. Her mind wandered in unexpected ways, catching herself stealing glances at him that were far from innocent.

It was hard to ignore just how handsome he was, how effortlessly he made her heart skip a beat. The way his blue eyes glimmered on the rare occasions he smiled, or the way her breath hitched when he stretched on the couch, offering a fleeting glimpse of his lower abs, left her feeling like a schoolgirl with a serious crush.

-----

One Friday night, piercing screams shattered her sleep. The sounds were raw and anguished, cutting through the stillness of the apartment. They were coming from the other side of the thin wall—Bucky’s place. She froze, her heart pounding as she recognized the unmistakable signs of a nightmare. But this wasn’t like the restless murmurs or muffled groans she’d overheard in the past. These screams were different, drenched in pain and terror.

Her stomach knotted with worry as she quickly got out of bed, moving toward the balcony the two apartments shared. A low, weathered wooden fence separated their spaces, and she hesitated for only a moment before climbing onto a flowerpot, swung one leg over the fence, and then struggled to follow with the other, cursing her pathetic fitness level as she landed awkwardly on the other side, graceless and unstable.

Peering through the glass of the sliding door, she saw him on the floor, tangled in his sheets, tossing and turning violently. His movements were frantic, his face contorted in fear and anguish as he thrashed against whatever demons haunted him.

“HET!” he cried out desperately, the guttural sound ripping through the room. “Pozhaluysta, prekrati!”

Her heart clenched at the sight. This wasn’t just a bad dream, it was a vivid, visceral reliving of some past trauma. She had no doubt it was connected to his time under HYDRA’s control.

Without thinking, she opened the door and stepped inside. Moving carefully, she approached him, the floor creaking softly beneath her feet. His screams ebbed into harsh, labored breaths, but his body remained tense, caught in the grip of the nightmare. Slowly, she knelt beside him and, with a tentative hand, brushed his hair back from his damp forehead.

As she touched him, she sent a gentle wave of healing energy through him, hoping to ease his turmoil. Her powers couldn’t erase memories, but they could soften the edges of his distress and dull the sharpest parts of his anguish. His breathing began to slow, the lines of tension on his face gradually easing as the energy worked its way through him.

“It’s okay, Buck. You’re not there anymore. Wake up,” she murmured, despite the ache in her chest.

As her hand rested gently on his forehead, Bucky’s piercing screams subsided into soft, pained whimpers. “Bol'no...” he mumbled incoherently, his voice heavy with anguish. Despite her whispered reassurances, his body remained restless, his movements erratic and desperate as the nightmare held him captive.

“No... don’t...” he murmured weakly, his voice trembling with fear and conflict. His legs began to shake, the tension in his body coiling tighter with each passing second. She hesitated, her mind racing with the risks of waking him in this state, he could lash out instinctively, putting her in harm’s way.

Swallowing her fear, she made up her mind and knelt beside him, wrapping her arms around him tightly. “You’re safe,” she murmured again, as she transferred more healing energy into him by force.

The contact seemed to calm him. His movements grew less frantic, though his body still flinched now and then, as though reacting to something particularly disturbing in his dream. Still, the nightmare’s grip seemed to weaken, her presence slowly chipping away at the fear and pain that had consumed him.

Suddenly, his eyes fluttered open, blinking rapidly as confusion clouded his features. He looked disoriented, his breathing uneven as his gaze swept the room until it landed on her. For a moment, he just stared, his expression shifting from alarm to recognition. His shoulders sagged slightly as relief washed over him.

“You…” His voice was hoarse as he ran a hand down his face, piecing it together. He looked at her sitting on the floor, with her hair tousled and an old nightie that kissed her knees. Her expression was a mixture of concern and awkwardness. “...woke me up.”

She nodded quickly, her hands fiddling with the hem of her clothes. “You sounded like you were… trapped in something bad,” she said softly. “And you were about to wake the entire neighborhood. I couldn’t just leave you like that.”

Bucky pushed himself upright, with slow movements, like his body weighed more than usual. The exhaustion clung to him in every line of his face, and his voice came out quiet and raw. “Thanks… and sorry.”

“There’s nothing to thank me for, big guy. You were suffering.” She shrugged, trying to downplay the moment, but her next words came tumbling out unbidden. “Um… do you want me to stay? You know, for the rest of the night? In case…” Her stomach tightened immediately. What made her think he’d want her to stay?

To her surprise, he paused, considering her offer. A small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Actually… yeah,” he admitted, still tinged with weariness. He shifted slightly. “If you don’t mind staying close. Just for a while.”

For a beat, she just stared, startled. Quickly regaining her composure, she nodded. “Not at all. I mean, look at your state. Where uh… do you want me?” Her cheeks flushed the second the words left her mouth, and she wanted to die of cringe. That could’ve been phrased better.

Bucky didn’t seem to pick up on the unintended innuendo, or maybe he just didn’t care. He tilted his head slightly, motioning toward the makeshift bed on the floor. “Close is good,” he said simply. “Just… lean against me or something,” he added, curling up into a somewhat protective position as he waited for her to settle in next to him..

Swallowing her nerves, she laid down beside him, her body angled carefully so as not to crowd him. Tentatively, she rested a hand on his side, her palm finding the steady rise and fall of his ribcage. “Like… this?” she asked, her voice quieter now, more unsure.

Bucky didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he let out a breath that sounded like a mixture of relief and resignation. “Yeah,” he murmured, his hand briefly brushing hers in an unconscious gesture. “This is good.”

As the silence settled between them, she stayed still, attuned to the warmth of his body and the slowing rhythm of his breathing. He didn’t say much after that, but the way his tense shoulders gradually relaxed spoke volumes. Whatever nightmares had plagued him earlier, they seemed a little further away now.

Exhausted from using her powers at such a high level for the first time in ages, she had finally allowed herself to relax, succumbing to the pull of sleep almost instantly.

-----

When she woke, sunlight was already streaming through the curtains, signaling it was late morning. Something big and warm was pressed against her, enveloping her in heat and security. Still caught in the haze of sleep, her eyes fluttered open slowly. She became aware of the steady rise and fall of breathing against her back, and then of the arm draped snugly around her waist.

Her heart skipped a beat as she registered the sensation of someone instinctively pulling her closer, his hold firm yet unconsciously gentle. He let out a low, sleepy grunt, his nose brushing against the sensitive crook of her neck as he nuzzled deeper, inhaling softly. His breath, warm and even, tickled her skin, and a quiet hum of contentment escaped him.

As the events of the previous night filtered back into her mind, realization struck her like a slap. She remembered where she was, and more importantly, with who.

Wide awake now, her senses sharpened, and noticed with increasing alarm that he was still nuzzling her neck, his face burrowed against her as if drawn to her scent. A traitorous warmth spread across her cheeks as his arm tightened slightly, and she could feel the firmness of his chest against her back.

Panicked but trying not to disturb him too abruptly, she whimpered pathetically under her breath and began tapping his bare shoulder with hesitant fingers. “Bucky,” she whispered urgently. “Bucky, wake up.”

Her soft taps and whispered plea had no effect. In fact, he murmured something incomprehensible and -oh no, oh no, oh no- his hand slid just slightly lower along her side, his fingers twitching as if seeking something in his sleep. Her heart thudded in her chest, her face a furnace of mortification.

Desperate, she abandoned subtlety and swatted the back of his head with just enough force to jolt him.

“Guh-!” he startled awake, blinking rapidly as if trying to dispel the remnants of a dream. His eyes, half-closed and unfocused, darted around. “Huh? What time is it?” he mumbled, his voice gravelly from sleep.

It took a second -or several- for the reality of the situation to register in his brain. As he shifted slightly, his gaze landed on her, and the proximity of their position. The arm draped around her, the way their bodies were pressed together. The faint warmth lingering where his face had been tucked into her neck.

“Oh. Oh,” he breathed, his entire body stiffening. A faint flush began creeping up his neck, spreading rapidly to his cheeks. He immediately withdrew his arm, sitting up fast. “Sorry.” he ran a hand through his hair, avoiding her eyes. “I didn’t mean to. I was… dreaming. I didn’t even realize-” He groaned, rubbing the back of his neck as he glanced at her. “Are you… okay?”

She nodded quickly, trying to mask her flustered state. “Yeah, I’m fine.” To distract herself, she stretched her arms lazily above her head, the motion easing the lingering tension in her muscles.

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Bucky glanced around the room as though looking for something else to look at. The awkwardness between them lingered until finally, he addressed her. “So, uh… Saturday. What plans do you have for today?” he asked casually, though the faint edge of self-consciousness was impossible to miss.

Grateful for a change of topic, she stood up, smoothing her old cotton nightgown and brushing at imaginary dust particles. “Actually, I’m heading out to buy some clothes with a coworker. She invited me to go out to a nightclub with the gang tonight. It’s been years since I’ve been to one.”

Bucky’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, his expression caught somewhere between intrigue and skepticism. “A nightclub? That sounds… interesting,” he commented dryly, the hint of sarcasm poorly masking his curiosity. “So I take it you’ll need some new threads first?”

“Yup,” she confirmed. “I mean, I’ve got a decent sense of fashion, but I have no clue what’s in style for places like that anymore. Honestly, I don’t pay attention to what people wear when I see them stumbling home after a night out. I’m usually just walking my dog in old sweatpants or something.” She smiled wryly. “So, she’s helping me look sexy for tonight.”

“Right,” He frowned inadvertently.

“Right,” she echoed, eyeing him for a moment before continuing. “Anyway, since you seem… more than fine now, I should head out. I’m sure you’ve got a packed day ahead, like watching paint dry or maybe finally returning some of those missed calls from Sam.”

She gave him a quick wave and turned toward the balcony, her steps light but deliberate.

Still sitting on the floor, Bucky tracked her movements, his gaze lingering longer than it should on the gentle sway of her hips. The sunlight streaming through the window caught the silhouette of her body through the thin cotton gown, and his jaw clenched before he managed to pull his eyes away. Then he noticed where she was heading.

“The door is that way, in case you didn’t notice,” he said with a faint smirk, gesturing toward the proper exit.

“Oh, I know,” she shot back. “But mine’s locked. I had to channel my inner Cirque du Soleil to get over the balcony and into your place last night.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “You climbed the fence?”

“Yeah, and I’d really rather not do it again. Especially with an audience this time.” She paused, turned back to him, and gave him a pointed look. “So, how about you repay me by brushing up on your rusty espionage skills and opening my door without wrecking the lock?”

A lopsided grin tugged at the corners of his mouth, “You’re serious?”

“Oh yeah,” she replied, crossing her arms. “Come on, you’ve got the skills, big guy. Don’t tell me they’re all gone now.”

He let out a low chuckle, pushing himself off the floor. “Alright. Let’s see what I can do.”

------

Later that afternoon, she returned to her apartment with a couple of bags filled with casual clothes, as well as the evening’s potential attire tucked into the mix. She rummaged through them, pulling out the items she thought might work for the nightclub. Objectively, she wasn’t thrilled about the outing -it wasn’t exactly her scene- but she knew she needed to socialize more, to build connections, and maybe, just maybe, find someone to distract herself from the growing attraction she felt toward her grumpy neighbor and friend.

A neighbor who, thankfully, seemed blissfully unaware of her feelings.

He didn't seem interested in her that way, and the prospect of him discovering her little crush was mortifying. Also, she knew he had been attempting to date lately, surely encouraged by Dr. Raynor.

Her mind wandered back to that evening when she’d seen him leaving his apartment with a fresh flower bouquet, heading off to meet the chirpy Asian bartender from down the street. Or the time she’d spotted him in the hallway with a single rose wrapped in flimsy paper, his sharp casual-formal attire making him look infuriatingly handsome. When she raised an eyebrow at him, his only response was a gruff, “Tinder,” before disappearing out the door.

He never shared much about that part of his life, and honestly, she didn’t want to know. The thought of sitting through a conversation about his undoubtedly gorgeous dates, smiling and pretending to be happy for him wasn’t her idea of fun.

Before her thoughts could spiral any further, she patted her cheeks with both hands, forcing herself to focus on the task at hand. She had clothes to choose and a night to prepare for.

-------

After some deliberation, she narrowed her options down to two outfits but found herself hesitating. Against her better judgment, she decided to ask for his opinion. Complicated feelings aside, Bucky was still her friend. And once upon a time, he’d been quite the ladies’ man. Even if he wasn’t that guy anymore, his insights could still prove useful.

She marched to his door and knocked three times. “Bucky, are you home? I have a favor to ask.”

After a moment, the door swung open, and without missing a beat, she held up two hangers, shaking them slightly for emphasis almost against his face. “I can’t decide what to wear tonight. Can you help me figure it out? I’ll pay for Sunday’s pizza if you do.” She presented the options: a short black dress with a daring neckline and a red blouse paired with a matching miniskirt. “What do you think?”

Bucky’s brows furrowed briefly before he managed to mask his reaction with a neutral expression. The black dress was sleek, bold, and undeniably sexy -too sexy if he were being honest with himself-. The red blouse and miniskirt weren’t much better, the skirt’s length leaving little to the imagination.

He knew she was asking for his advice as a friend, but something twisted in his chest at the thought of her wearing either outfit. The idea of her going out in them, surrounded by strangers who didn’t know her like he did, made him uneasy.

His grip on the hangers tightened slightly as a faint, irrational pang of jealousy bloomed before he could push it away. Who else is going to see her like this? Who are these work colleagues, and how many of them are guys? But it wasn’t just jealousy, it was protectiveness, too.

Bucky had spent so much of his life guarding himself from the world that the idea of her stepping out there, dressed like this, left him feeling restless. It wasn’t about the clothes, not really. It was about her. The thought of anyone getting too close or treating her as anything less than she deserved made his stomach turn.

Clearing his throat, he gave her a measured look. “Depends on what kind of vibe you’re going for.”

She raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement in her expression. “Vibe?”

“Yeah.” He held up the black dress. “This says you want to stand out, make a statement. Maybe too much of a statement.” Then he switched to the red blouse and skirt. “This one’s… playful, but honestly, are you sure it’s comfortable?”

Her lips twitched as she fought back a grin. “Are you saying they’re too much?”

He shrugged, his gaze steady but warm. “I’m just saying you don’t need all that to look good.”

Her cheeks flushed at the unexpected compliment, and she crossed her arms. “You’re not exactly helping me choose here,” she noted with a playful huff, snapping him back to reality.

Bucky had to admit, the idea of her going out dating, dancing, or doing anything that a single woman her age might do besides spending Sundays on the couch with him, had never truly crossed his mind. Somehow, he’d stupidly taken for granted that she’d always be there, maintaining the easy status quo of their relationship. Ad infinitum.

But now, the possibility of her stepping out of that unspoken bubble between them hit him, and hard.

Was he ready for something else? Not likely, not when he still felt so damn broken. And the idea of ruining what they had for a failed attempt at something more profound, was unthinkable. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing her because he couldn’t get his act together.

So, he forced himself to remain calm, even as his emotions clawed at him. The last thing she needed was his unresolved mess clouding her chance to have fun.

He took a breath, keeping his voice steady despite the tightness in his chest. “The black dress makes an impact,” he admitted truthfully. “It’s bold, sexy…” His gaze shifted to the red ensemble. “This one’s daring too, with the shorter skirt, but…” He paused, his jaw tightening briefly before he finished, “If you’re looking to turn heads, I’d say go for the black dress.”

He handed the clothes back to her, with a composed expression, though his thoughts were anything but. He plastered on a faint smile, forcing the words past the lump in his throat. “You’ll look great, no matter what.”

She accepted the hangers with a small smile, clearly unaware of the turmoil behind his response. "Thanks, Buck. I owe you a pizza," she said with a soft smile, and before thinking twice, she leaned in and pecked him on the cheek.

The brief warmth of her lips caught him completely off guard. He stiffened, his body betraying him with an instinctive flinch, as though his mind couldn’t immediately reconcile the tenderness of the gesture. “No problem,” he murmured, his voice low and almost distant, eyes tracking her as she quickly retreated toward her apartment.

Once her door clicked shut, Bucky let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. His fingers brushed against the spot where her lips had landed, lingering there like he could somehow preserve the fleeting warmth. For someone like him, feelings were a minefield, buried deep and marked off-limits, hidden alongside memories he refused to revisit. She wasn’t supposed to matter like this. At first, she had just been his neighbor, someone who stubbornly broke through the walls he tried to keep fortified.

But over time, things had shifted, quietly at first, like the subtle tug of an undertow, until suddenly it felt like he was drowning.

He sighed deeply, his gaze locked on her door as if it held all the answers. What the hell are you doing, Barnes?

------

On the other side of the wall, she closed her door with a thud, leaning back against it as her stomach twisted in knots. She replayed his flinch in her mind, dissecting it with a mix of confusion and frustration.

Last night, he had wanted her to stay in his makeshift bed after the nightmare, and, for fuck’s sake he even snuggled against her neck in the morning like it was the most natural thing in the world. Asleep, but he did. And yet now, a simple kiss on the cheek had him recoiling like she’d crossed some unspoken line.

Her heart clenched. This is why you need to stop. Whatever feelings she was developing for him, they had to go, and fast. He wasn’t interested in that way. She needed a distraction, something -anything- to pull her away from this spiral.

Fueled by a mix of determination and frustration, she shoved aside his suggestion of the black dress. When the time came, she defiantly slipped into the skimpy red miniskirt and blouse instead. The choice wasn’t just about looking good; it was about reclaiming control over herself, and her emotions. Bold cat-eye makeup followed, along with a slick of glossy red lipstick. Grabbing her purse, she stormed out of the apartment with purpose.

Bucky had just returned from the store, whiskey in hand, when he heard her apartment door open. He turned just in time to see her step into the hallway. His breath caught.

She walked toward him with an effortless sway, the red miniskirt hugging her curves, the glossy lipstick gleaming under the hallway’s dim lights. She looked every bit like a woman who was about to turn heads, and Bucky felt like a deer caught in headlights.

She smiled at him, breezing past with a casual wave. “Goodnight, Bucky,” she said brightly, not even sparing him a second glance.

“Have fun tonight,” he managed to say, his voice tight and strained, as though his throat had suddenly gone dry.

The elevator doors closed behind her, leaving him frozen in place, nearly dropped the bottle.

“Fuck,” he muttered, running a hand down his face as though trying to rub away the image burned into his mind.

That moment, seeing her like that -knowing she was going out dressed like that-sent his thoughts into a tailspin. He had been trying, desperately, to keep things platonic, to see her as the friend and neighbor who had stumbled into his life at just the right moment. He had tried to distract himself by diving again into the waters of dating after… he can’t even remember how much time, to no avail. But the truth was impossible to ignore now: he wasn’t just fond of her. He wasn’t just grateful for her company.

He wanted her.

And it scared the hell out of him.

-------

Just as she was about to exit the building, the rusty main door lock jammed. Great.

After several increasingly aggressive attempts -rattling the knob, shaking the damn thing, and even delivering a few half-hearted kicks- she finally surrendered. She knew who could help her and grimaced. After managing that catwalk exit showing him indifference, now she needed to crawl back to him for assistance.

Taking a steadying breath, she turned around and knocked on his door. It creaked open on its own, poorly shut. Inside, Bucky was slouched on the couch, whiskey in hand, eyes fixed on the flickering screen of a soccer game.

“Hey,” she called softly, trying to sound casual, hoping to mask the awkwardness of her reappearance. “Are you in the mood to roleplay a locksmith?”

He didn’t startle, but there was a flicker of surprise in his eyes as he turned to face her. He took a deliberate swig straight from the bottle before responding, “Again? Don’t you have other neighbors to disturb at this ungodly hour?” he asked a dry tone.

His words were sharp, but she noticed his gaze briefly drop just for a second- skimming her legs before returning to the bottle. The tiniest flicker of frustration crossed his face, like he was annoyed with himself for looking at all.

Her stomach flipped, but she trampled the thought before it could take shape. She was not going to that place just minutes before going out “Come on, Buck. It’s getting late. I’ll make you those garlic snacks you like for tomorrow’s movie night, deal?”

She clasped her hands together, bowing slightly in mock pleading, only to instinctively adjust the hem of her skirt as she straightened. She saw his eyes flick down again, lingering just long enough on the exposed skin of her thighs to make her heart stutter.

Clearing his throat, he tried to sound unaffected. “And you’ll buy me a six-pack. The expensive kind.”

She narrowed her gaze. “Want me to clean your windows too? You know what, give me that.” She took three steps, grabbed the bottle from his hand, and took a generous swig of liquor. ‘Screw it. If he’s going to act all tough, so do I.’  She felt his eyes on her again as she tipped the bottle back, and the weight of his gaze, combined with the burn of the whiskey, made her feel bold, maybe a little too bold.

He clenched his jaw as the amber liquid caught the light, the movement drawing his eyes to the curves beneath her blouse. A heat surged through him. Frustration, arousal, and something raw he didn’t want to name.

“Sure,” he said gruffly. “Help yourself.”

She smirked, handing the bottle back. “What’s with that frown? I thought we had already cleared the phase of that staring thing of yours. Besides, sharing is caring.” She cleaned a stray drop on the corner of her mouth and winked. She fucking winked at him.

Bucky grunted, playing off the moment with a scowl. But his mind was racing by the way she waltzed back in, drinking his whiskey completely unfazed by his presence and ready to go out with some random people to do whatever in a club. He tried to reprimand himself. She was his friend, his neighbor. They had a dynamic: a light-hearted, sarcastic friendship that worked. And now, he couldn’t stop wondering what it would be like to just reach out, close the space between them, and…

“It's nothing,” he lied. “Just thinking about stuff I have to do with Sam.” Suddenly conscious of how closely he was observing her, Bucky forced himself to look away, focusing instead on the bottle clutched loosely in his hand.

She noticed the stare this time but decided to let it pass. “If that’s the case, that door’s not going to open itself, so move your firm 106-year-old ass and open it, will you?” she quipped, her voice carrying a playful edge. It was the kind of comment that would normally pass between them without much weight, but this time... she felt it hang in the air a little longer than usual.

The corner of his mouth twitched, and for a second, something playful sparked in his blue eyes. “Firm, huh? Seems like someone’s been staring.”

Heat rose to her cheeks. She cursed herself for slipping, but quickly waved it off with a flick of her wrist. She wasn’t about to let this turn into any kind of flirting after all that self coaching about auto-preservation. “Tic-toc, Bucky,” she said, keeping her tone nonchalant as she raised an eyebrow and gestured toward the hallway. She added a little authority to her voice, more for her own sake than his. She had to steer the conversation back to normal.

The spark dimmed at her response. He nodded stiffly and brushed past her, tensing his shoulders as he headed toward the door. Guess I read that wrong. He told himself it was for the best. Safer.

As Bucky knelt to inspect the lock, she couldn't help but glance at his broad back. The way his muscles flexed under the thin fabric of his shirt was almost hypnotic, her gaze briefly drifting lower before she caught herself. Stop it, she mentally scolded, forcing her eyes to a safe, innocuous spot: a blank patch on the wall that suddenly seemed fascinating.

With a screech of protesting metal, Bucky shoved the old lock using his vibranium finger. The door creaked open, and he stepped back, making a dramatic flourish with his arm. “There you go,” he said, almost indifferent. “If you don’t need anything else, I’d like to get back to watching the soccer match.”

She smiled, hoping to keep things light, even when feeling a weird tightness in her chest. Without thinking, she quipped, “Well, go watch your soccer, then, and wish me luck. Who knows, maybe I’ll meet someone!”

Bucky’s hand, still resting on the doorframe clenched slightly, the wood almost creaking under the pressure. The pang of jealousy was immediate and sharp, a wave of possessiveness that he had no right to feel hit him hard. He swallowed, forcing himself to play it cool. “Good luck,” he responded tersely, managing a strained smile on his lips. It was a pathetic attempt to mask the truth. Luck had nothing to do with what he wanted for her that night. He wanted her to return home alone and unclaimed, just as she had left.

------

Alone in his apartment, with the TV long forgotten, Bucky paced restlessly on the old wooden floor. Each step echoed the growing anticipation and anxiety eating him from within. His mind raced with possibilities, each one more painful than the last. He could almost picture her with some faceless guy, laughing, dancing, maybe even kissing him. It wasn’t his place to feel this way, he knew that. But knowing didn’t make it easier.

Across town, she stepped into the club, momentarily overwhelmed by its sheer size. Neon lights pulsed in time with the heavy bass, bathing the room in a kaleidoscope of colors. The whiskey she’d downed at Bucky’s apartment warmed her blood, taking the edge off her nerves.

She grinned, letting the electric atmosphere seep into her. Liquid courage, she thought, ordering two tequila shots when she reached the bar.

The sharp burn of the tequila was quick and welcome, igniting a spark of confidence. She laughed with her coworkers, the energy of the room infectious, and allowed herself to be pulled onto the crowded dance floor.

The music thumped through her veins, the bass so loud it felt like a second heartbeat. For a while, she let herself go, the weight of her thoughts about Bucky -about them- fading into the kaleidoscope of lights and sound. Each rhythmic beat seemed to push her farther from the strange tension that had been lingering between them, leaving her free to revel in the moment.

Yet, somewhere in the back of her mind, his strained smile lingered like a ghost she couldn’t quite shake.

------

Bucky found himself awake, staring at the ceiling, restless as he checked the time on his phone more often than he’d like to admit. The thought of her out there -dancing, laughing, maybe already with someone else- had him teetering on the edge of something raw and unrelenting.

Finally, he sat up from his nest on the floor with a groan, running a hand through his hair. "Fuck it." Patience wasn’t his strong suit on the best of days, and tonight was no exception. He wasn’t about to sit there letting his mind spiral, conjuring images that made his chest tighten and his teeth grind.

He stood and grabbed his jacket, moving with a quiet, focused purpose. He wasn’t being possessive, he told himself; he was just concerned. Nothing more. He’d check on her, make sure she was okay, and leave. That was it. No ulterior motives.

The cool night air bit at his skin as he slipped out of the building, heading straight for the club he knew she had gone. The monstrous neon-lit structure came into view, its pounding bass audible even from the street. Bucky melted into the shadows as naturally as breathing, years of training guiding his steps.

This wasn’t a mission. He wasn’t stalking a target. He was just... checking in. ‘Just to see how she’s doing’, he repeated in his mind, as if saying it enough times would make it true.

Inside, the club was a sensory overload: pulsing lights, bodies moving in sync to the beat, and a sea of unfamiliar faces. Bucky’s sharp eyes scanned the crowd, his chest tightening as his search dragged on longer than he’d expected. Then, finally, he saw her.

Her flushed cheeks and disheveled hair told their own story, a story that stirred something primal within him. His chest tightened as he watched her throw herself into the rhythm of the music, her body swaying effortlessly to the heavy bass, her face lit up in carefree abandon. Bucky's gaze lingered, drawn to her in a way that he couldn't fight anymore. The pulsing lights of the club flashed around them, but his focus was solely on her, everything else fading into the background.

The pull was undeniable. His feet moved before he could think better of it, closing the distance between them until he was standing just inches behind her, his tall frame looming over her smaller form.

She sensed his body immediately, a presence that seemed to engulf her. Startled, she opened her eyes, prepared to spin around and tell some stranger to fuck off. But when she turned, her heart skipped a beat.

"…Bucky?"

Her voice was a mix of confusion and something else, relief, maybe? It broke through the haze clouding his thoughts.

His breath hitched as he took her in up close: the flush of her cheeks, the strands of hair sticking to her damp forehead, the faint sheen of sweat glistening on her skin. And then there was the feel of her under his hand. His gaze dropped to where it had landed instinctively: on her hip.

His grip tightened for a fraction of a second, and then reality crashed over him all at once, releasing her as if burned.

“Fuck,” he muttered, taking a step back. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

She blinked, her brows knitting together in confusion. “What are you doing here?”

His eyes darted away, scanning the crowded room as if it held an answer. “I just... needed to make sure you were okay,” he admitted. His voice was low, rougher than he intended. The excuse felt hollow even to him, but it was all he could offer.

Despite the awkwardness hanging in the air, her heart warmed. Bucky had actually left his apartment, and crossed the city, just to “check” on her. Maybe her situation wasn’t as hopeless as she sometimes thought. Either that, or they were due for a serious conversation about boundaries.

She smiled, trying to ease the tension. “That’s sweet of you, Buck, but completely unnecessary,” she said with a teasing lilt. “I can take care of myself, you know.”

“Sweet?” he echoed, a hint of disbelief coloring his tone. “That’s a new one for me.”

He exhaled heavily, his jaw tightening before he spoke again, slower this time, as though weighing every word. “Look, it’s... complicated. But the truth is, I couldn’t stand the idea of you being here, alone, in a crowd like this.”

His voice carried a rawness that caught her off guard, the admission revealing more than he likely intended.

Her teasing smile faltered for a moment as his words sank in. There was something unspoken lingering just beneath the surface, and it was enough to make her heart ache. "Well," she said softly, her tone shifting, “I’m not alone… but if it bothered you that much, why didn’t you just ask me to stay?”

Her question hung between them like a challenge, and for a moment, their eyes locked. His stormy blue gaze held hers, and she saw it, the conflict, the walls he’d built so carefully starting to crack. He wanted to say something, to let her in, but the fear of rejection or exposing too much kept him frozen.

Then, as if a switch had been flipped before he could muster a response, his defenses kicked in. His expression closed off, and he abruptly turned away, as if running from the crushing weight of his feelings.

Her heart leaped into her throat as she watched him pull back, the sudden distance between them far more than physical. ‘No. Don’t shut me out now.’  Before she could stop herself, she reached out, wrapping her hand around his gloved metal one, the cool leather stark against her warm palm.

“Wait.”

He froze, every muscle in his body going taut. For a long moment, he didn’t move, didn’t turn around, didn’t even breathe, it seemed. He stood there, caught between the magnetic pull of her touch and the ingrained instinct to retreat into the safety of solitude.

“You came all the way here just to startle me like some creep and then leave?” she joked, her voice light as she tried to break through his stoic exterior. Her hand tightened around his, grounding him, pulling him back into the moment. He didn’t move, but the tension in his body was undeniable, the silent battle raging inside him clear from the way his muscles tensed under her touch.

A long, awkward silence stretched between them before Bucky finally spoke. “Look, I don’t want to make things weird between us,” he said, his voice low and earnest, with just a hint of vulnerability seeping through his usually controlled stance. "But… promise me one thing.” He turned slightly toward her, leaning in closer, close enough that only she could hear what came next. His voice dropped to a near-whisper, thick with intensity. “Promise me you won’t do anything stupid while I’m not around, okay?”

His closeness overwhelmed her senses. The scent of cedar, leather, and something undeniably him filled the space between them, making her pulse quicken. Heat flushed through her skin as she felt the full weight of his presence, intoxicating, magnetic. She cursed herself for how easily he affected her. Her resolve, the careful wall she’d built to keep things casual between them, was crumbling. At that moment, it was impossible to pretend she didn’t want something more. "Actually, Buck…” she started, “Since you’re here… I’m getting tired, and I want to go home. Will you take me?” Her words hung in the air, simple but heavy with unspoken meaning.

Bucky’s gaze widened her suggestion. The offer was unexpected, yet in the charged atmosphere between them, it felt inevitable, like the tension that had been simmering for too long was finally bubbling to the surface. "Alright then,” he murmured. “Let's get you out of here.” Without hesitation, he slid his arm around her waist, his touch was firm but cautious, as though he were testing the waters. The warmth of her body against his heightened his awareness of every subtle movement she made.

“Ready for the ride home?” he asked, his voice huskier than he intended as he raised his hand to hail a cab. His fingers brushed lightly against her side, an unconscious gesture that felt more like reassurance, though he wasn’t entirely sure if it was meant for her or himself.

She nodded, and without another word, Bucky guided her toward the waiting car, his hand still resting on her waist as if that physical connection between them had become essential, something he wasn’t willing to break. Once inside, he slid in beside her, their thighs pressing together in the tight confines of the backseat.

“So,” he said, his voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper as he turned slightly toward her, “what exactly did you have planned for tonight before I crashed the party?”

She tilted her head back against the seat, eyes closing as though she were unwinding from the pulse of the club. A soft, wry smile played on her lips. “Dunno,” she began, her voice carrying a hint of vulnerability beneath the casual tone. “Getting loose, maybe meeting someone... and feeling wanted, for a change.”

Bucky’s jaw tightened, her words hitting him in a place he didn’t want to acknowledge. Feeling wanted? The thought of her searching for that validation in someone else sent another surge of possessiveness through him.

“Well,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a low, gravelly tone, “considering how much trouble I’ve caused tonight already...” His fingers, tentative but bold, trailed slowly along the curve of her thigh, the warmth of her skin radiating through the thin fabric of her skirt. His touch was deliberate, slow, igniting something raw and unspoken between them. “...you’d better believe you’re wanted right now.”

The weight of his words, paired with the slow, burning sensation of his fingers against her thigh, made her bit her lip. He wasn’t just saying it, he was showing her, in every deliberate move he made, exactly how wanted she was.

She gasped at the feel of his touch continuing upwards, her body reacting instinctively as her legs parted slightly. She turned her gaze to him “I didn’t think that you…” she whispered, her voice trembling with vulnerability.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice was rough and low, thick with barely contained desire. “You have no idea how long I’ve been trying not to want you... and failing miserably.” Without another word, Bucky shifted closer, his hand slipping beneath the hem of her skirt, seeking and finding the warmth he had long denied himself.

Feeling the brush of his hand on her thigh, she suppressed a moan as heat started pooling between her legs. Then her eyes darted to the rearview mirror and realized the driver was stealing curious glances toward their activities. She felt a flush of embarrassment and hastily grabbed Bucky’s wrist. “Wait,” she whispered, nodding subtly toward the mirror. 

Bucky followed her gaze, his eyes narrowing as he noticed the driver’s prying eyes on them. A dark, irritated look crossed his face as he made eye contact with the cabby. His fingers hovered on her thigh for a second longer before he reluctantly withdrew.

She quickly crossed her legs, the movement causing her skirt to ride up, offering a tantalizing glimpse of soft skin. Swallowing hard, he turned his attention back to her face, his eyes dark with lust, but remained composed the rest of the trip. 

As the cab pulled up to their building, he took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm inside him. He opened the door and stepped out, offering his hand to help her exit the vehicle. The cool night air and the stillness of the street seemed to break the spell that had enveloped them, grounding them momentarily.

On the elevator, the silence between them was heavy. They exchanged fleeting glances through the mirror, but neither could hold the other’s gaze for long. Their minds swirled with thoughts, mostly Was this all a mistake? 

When finally, the doors slid open, he stepped out ahead of her, leading the way down the hallway to his apartment. His footsteps echoed loudly in the quiet space, punctuated by the rhythmic thud of his heartbeat in his ears.

Once inside, Bucky turned to face her, his expression a mix of uncertainty and raw, unbridled lust. "So..." he started, looking for the right words. "What happens now?"

She bit her lower lip, suddenly feeling exposed under his intense gaze. This is it, she thought, her heart pounding hard enough to echo in her ears. The heat between them was almost suffocating, her skin prickling under the weight of his stare. “I want you to… continue what you started in the car,” she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper.

Relief and raw hunger washed over his features as his broad frame loomed closer. Without a word, his lips crashed against hers, the kiss rough, desperate, and possessive. She melted into him, her hands tangling in his hair, tugging gently as she deepened the embrace.

Time stilled, the world beyond his dimly lit apartment faded into irrelevance as his metal hand gripped her hips. He pulled her flush against him, and the unmistakable press of his hard cock against her belly sent a rush of slick arousal pooling between her thighs.

When their lips broke apart, gasping for air, Bucky’s mouth didn’t stop. He trailed along her jawline, his scruff scratching deliciously against her flushed skin, before lowering to the sensitive skin behind her ear. He nipped, earning a soft gasp, and then soothed the spot with his tongue, his lips leaving a hot, wet trail down her neck.

“Tell me what you want,” he rasped, his voice thick and hoarse with barely restrained need. The heat of his breath sent shivers racing down her spine. “And I’ll give it to you. Anything. Just say the words.”

Her head fell back instinctively, exposing more of her throat to his wandering mouth, every nerve ending sparking to life under his touch. Her body moved on its own, grinding against the firm ridge of his hardon, seeking friction. A breathless whimper escaped her lips, her hands roaming the expanse of his broad chest, fingers curling around the hem of his shirt as she pushed it upward, desperate to feel him.

“Bucky…” she whispered, her voice shaky, barely audible over her heart pounding. “I want you. All of you. Right now.”

His lips stilled against her skin for a split second before he pulled back, his eyes locking onto hers with such fierceness that made her knees weak. “You have me,” he growled. His hands moved to her thighs, lifting her effortlessly as if she weighed nothing.

Pinned between him and the nearest wall, her legs wrapped instinctively around his waist. His hips rolled against her, the hard length of him grinding against her soaked panties, the friction sending a sharp jolt of pleasure through her body as his hands roamed the curve of her waist.

“You had to wear the damn blouse, hm?” he murmured, his tone dark and reverent all at once. His lips captured hers again, his teeth grazing her lower lip before his tongue delved inside, deepening the kiss. Her back arched into him, her body desperate for more as the heat built between them, spiraling out of control.

Bucky’s hands moved with practiced ease, tugging the hem of her blouse upward. Instead of wasting time with buttons, he pulled it over her head in one deft motion, the fabric whispering against her skin as it slid away. Before she could catch her breath, his fingers found the clasp of her bra at the front, flicking it open with a sure twist.

The garment was discarded to the side, forgotten, as his intense gaze dropped to her newly exposed skin. The cool air brushed against her hardened nipples, but it was nothing compared to the heat of his hands as they slid up her sides to cup her breasts.

“You’re fucking perfect,” he muttered like the words were torn from him without permission. He leaned in, his mouth trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down her throat and lower, until his lips wrapped around one pert nipple and sucked.

The wet heat of his tongue sent a shockwave through her body, her hands clutching at his shoulders for support. A soft, breathless moan escaped her lips, her hips rocking instinctively against him. “Bucky…” she whimpered, her voice barely recognizable, thick with need.

A soft, breathless moan escaped her lips, her hips rocking instinctively against him, the hardness pressing between her thighs sending shockwaves of need coursing through her. Bucky growled low in his throat, the sound vibrating against her skin as his lips traced a fiery path down her neck.

“What about this, huh?” he murmured, his tone dark and reverent all at once as he roamed the fabric of her skirt on her hips. The accusation in his tone thrilled her, but she couldn’t resist firing back.

“You don’t like it?” she teased breathlessly.

“Didn’t like other men looking at you in it,” he growled, tightening his grip. His blue eyes were stormy, fixed on her face with a mix of frustration and want. “You put this on, asking for trouble, didn’t you?”

“Well…” She smirked, with a flicker of defiance in her gaze. “That was the idea, yes.” she shot back, her breath hitching as his lips claimed hers again in a rough and possessive kiss.

His brows furrowed, and without warning, he grasped the hem of her skirt. “So trouble, huh?” he rasped, his voice dropping to a dangerous low. With one sharp tug, the fabric gave way, the sound of the seam tearing echoing in the quiet apartment.

“Bucky!” she gasped, looking down at the ruined garment now discarded on the floor. “That was brand new!”

His smirk deepened, a predatory gleam in his eyes as his hands moved to her hips, his fingers hooking into the sides of her panties. “Well,” he murmured darkly, “you wanted trouble, sweetheart.” With one smooth motion, he tore the delicate lace, the ruined scraps joining her skirt on the floor. “Now, you’ve got it.”

Before she could respond, Bucky downed her to the floor and dropped to his knees before her, his broad shoulders aligning with her hips as his hands gripped her firmly. He pressed his lips to the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, locking his gaze.

With a steady, almost reverent motion, he guided one of her legs up, draping it over his shoulder. His hands slid down to her other thigh, gripping and spreading her gently but firmly, holding her steady as he settled between her legs.

“Stay still,” he rasped, his voice low and commanding, the timbre sending a shiver through her body. His fingers dug into her thighs just enough to steady her, with a mix of strength and care that left her dizzy with anticipation.

“Look at you,” he muttered, as his gaze burned into hers. “Fucking gorgeous.”

The first brush of his lips against her was featherlight, a tease, but it sent a jolt of pleasure straight through her core.

“Bucky…” she whimpered, her fingers tangling in his hair as her knees threatened to give out beneath her.

He groaned at the sound of his name on her lips, his tongue darting out to taste her. The wet heat of his mouth made her cry out, her hips instinctively bucking against him. His grip on her tightened, holding her in place as he worked her with a mix of deliberate strokes and teasing flicks, the rhythm of his movements driving her higher. Then, he sucked hard at her clit.

Her head fell back, her nails scraping against his scalp as the coil of tension in her belly tightened. “Oh my God, Bucky…” she moaned, her voice breaking.

He growled against her, “You taste so fucking good,” he muttered, his words muffled against her, before diving back in with renewed fervor.

She was trembling, her body on fire, every nerve ending alight under his relentless attention. “Bucky… I-” she gasped, unable to finish the sentence as her world shattered around her, her orgasm ripping through her with a force that left her boneless.

He didn’t stop until her trembling eased, his hands steadying her as he pressed a kiss to the inside of her thigh again, his scruff grazing her sensitive skin. Standing, he cupped her face in his hands, before his lips found hers again, this time with a slow, simmering heat that promised this was far from over.

With one last lingering kiss, Bucky pulled away and took her hand, his calloused fingers warm against her skin. Wordlessly, he led her down the hallway to his bedroom.

Inside, the soft light of the street spilling from the window cast long shadows across the room. As soon as the door clicked shut behind them, his lips were on hers again. His hands eagerly roamed her body, while hers found the hem of his shirt, tugging at it insistently.

“Not fair,” she murmured against his mouth, a teasing lilt to her voice as she tugged the fabric higher. “I’m the only one without clothes.”

Bucky pulled back just enough to let her lift the shirt over his head. As the garment came off, he hesitated for a split second, his gaze dropping, the faintest flicker of self-consciousness crossing his features.

Her eyes softened as she took in the scars that marred his chest and shoulder, where flesh met metal. Without a word, she leaned in, her lips brushing gently over the jagged lines of his scars, trailing soft kisses along the seam of his prosthetic.

“You’re beautiful,” she whispered against his skin.

The words made his throat tighten, and his cheeks flushed with warmth. “If you say so,” he muttered, with a rough voice and an emotion he didn’t quite know how to express.

She smiled, her fingers grazing his jaw as she kissed him again, slow and deep.

Gently, he guided her toward the bed, the back of her knees meeting the edge before she sank onto the mattress. He followed, climbing on top of her with a careful but commanding grace, his weight settling between her thighs as he braced himself on his forearms.

“You are the beautiful one,” he murmured, his lips brushing over hers as his hand slid up her side, exploring every curve with deliberate care.

Bucky’s lips trailed down her neck, his hot breath igniting her skin as he moved lower. His mouth found her breast, and his tongue teased a hard nipple before he drew it into his mouth. The way his teeth grazed just slightly the sensitive skin to suckle on it after, sent a jolt of pleasure that had her back arching off the bed. Her fingers threaded into his hair, holding him closer as he feasted on her, his free hand kneading the soft flesh of her other breast. He alternated between them with, relentless attention and when he finally pulled away, with his lips glistening, he shifted his weight back onto his knees, moving his hands to his belt. With a quick flick, he unbuckled it, the metallic clink cutting through the thick silence of the room. He made short work of his pants and boxers, discarding them onto the floor with the rest of his clothes.

Her eyes widened as he revealed himself, unable to hide the surprise from her face.

Bucky noticed her reaction, his lips twitching into a faint smirk. He quirked a brow, saying nothing, though the gleam in his eyes was unmistakable.

Without breaking eye contact, he positioned himself between her legs, his broad hands sliding up her thighs to spread them wider. His gaze softened slightly, his confidence faltering just enough for a faint blush to creep up his neck. “I, uh… I should warn you,” he said, his voice tinged with embarrassment. “It’s been a long time since I’ve done this. I don’t know how long I’m gonna last.”

Her chest swelled at the vulnerability in his voice, and she reached up to cradle his face, pressing a tender kiss to the tip of his nose. “That’s okay,” she murmured with a small smile, her voice warm and reassuring. “We’ve got all night to practice.”

The tension in his shoulders eased at her words, and he let out a soft laugh, the sound rough and filled with affection. “Well, that is certainly reassuring,” he muttered, leaning down to capture her lips again, aligning his body with hers as he began to guide himself into her, slow and steady.

The tight, wet heat enveloped him, and a deep and guttural groan escaped his lips. His body tensed, his breath hitching as pleasure slammed into him with an intensity he hadn’t anticipated.

“Fuck…” he muttered under his breath, freezing in place. His jaw clenched as he willed himself to calm down, every muscle in his body taut with restraint.

She watched him, her hands resting lightly on his forearms. “What is wrong?” she asked with concern.

He closed his eyes briefly, exhaling sharply through his nose. “Give me a second,” he rasped, “I almost -fuck- almost lost it already.”

Her lips curved into a small, understanding smile. She reached up to stroke his cheek, her thumb brushing lightly over his flushed skin. “Take your time,” she whispered, her voice soothing and full of warmth.

He opened his eyes, the stormy blue depths meeting hers, and he gave a small nod. He pulled back slightly, taking a deep breath before pushing in a little farther. The sensation overwhelmed him again, his hands gripped her hips like a lifeline as he cursed again under his breath. “Goddamn it,” he growled, stopping once more, his forehead dropping to her shoulder as he fought for control.

Her fingers threaded through his hair, gently scratching his scalp as she whispered, “It’s okay. We’re not in a rush. Just... feel it, Bucky. I’m not going anywhere.”

He let out a low, shaky laugh. “You’re too fucking good to me,” he muttered, lifting his head to look at her again. He took another breath and moved slowly, inching deeper this time, his body trembling with the effort to hold back. He paused twice more, cursing softly each time, but her patient touches and words made him feel like he could take all the time in the world.

Finally, with a low, satisfied groan, he bottomed out, his hips flush against hers. He stilled, his head dropping to rest against hers as he breathed heavily. “Jesus Christ,”

She was doing her best to be patient, to let him take his time, but the throbbing heat of his cock buried deep inside her was becoming impossible to ignore. Her body ached for more, for movement, for relief from the unbearable tension coiling tighter with every passing second.

Biting her lip, she gazed up at him, his eyes still closed, his jaw clenched as he worked to steady himself. The sight of him like this -raw, vulnerable, and completely consumed- only made her need intensify.

Tentatively, she shifted her hips upward, a subtle roll that sent a jolt of pleasure sparking through her body. The sensation drew a soft gasp from her lips, and she couldn’t suppress the small whimper that followed.

Bucky’s eyes snapped open, the sharp inhale he took betraying just how much he felt her movement. His gaze locked on hers, dark and full of warning, but there was no mistaking the desire burning behind it.

“Careful,” he rasped, “You’re making it real fucking hard to keep control here.”

Her lips curved into a mischievous smile, her patience finally wearing thin. “Maybe I don’t want you to keep control,” she whispered, as she rocked her hips again, just enough to feel him twitch inside her.

Bucky groaned deeply, pressing his face into the crook of her neck as his composure continued to crack. His body trembled against hers, his restraint unraveling with each passing second. “Fuck,” he growled, his voice low and strained, teetering between a warning and surrender.

Her response was to arch her back, her body molding against his as her nails dragged lightly down the sculpted planes of his back. “Stop holding back,” she murmured, her breath hot against his ear. “It’s like you’re punishing yourself.”

Her hands moved to his nape, fingers brushing softly through the short hair at the base of his skull. “What’s wrong with cumming, Buck?” she whispered, with a tender voice.  “Let go. Next time-”

Her words were cut off by a sudden, hard thrust, his hips snapping forward and burying him so deeply inside her that the blunt head of his cock kissed her cervix. A sharp gasp tore from her throat, her head falling back against the mattress as pleasure and shock rippled through her.

When she met his gaze, his blue eyes burned with steely determination. His jaw was clenched, his face tight with a focus that seemed almost unshakable, as though he’d summoned every ounce of his training to suppress his body’s overwhelming need for release.

“Next time,” he murmured, his voice rough and deliberate, “I’ll make it last.” His hips snapped forward again, hard and precise, pulling a cry from her lips as her body arched beneath him. He grit his teeth, his breath ragged. “I’m not… a fucking teenager. I won’t just… soil myself. I won’t do that to you, doll.”

She blinked up at him, her chest rising and falling as she gasped for air, the meaning behind his words sinking in. His old-fashioned masculine pride wouldn’t let him lose control, wouldn’t let him spill before ensuring her satisfaction.

Her lips parted as a rush of understanding -and desire- flooded her. Sliding a hand down between them, she touched herself, her fingers finding her slick folds and swollen clit.

His thrusts faltered slightly as he realized what she was doing, his eyes widening briefly before darkening with renewed hunger. “Fuck, doll…” he rasped, his voice hoarse and laced with awe as he watched her.

Her fingers moved with purpose, working in rhythm with his powerful thrusts. The added sensation sent sparks of pleasure racing through her body, her moans growing louder as she climbed higher.

“Bucky,” she gasped, her free hand clutching at his back as the tension coiled tighter, every nerve ending alight. Her movements grew more frantic, and she cried out as the release she craved finally shattered through her, her walls clenching hard around him.

That was all it took. With a guttural groan, Bucky’s restraint broke, his hips slamming against hers as he buried himself deep, spilling into her with a force that left him trembling. He collapsed against her, his breath ragged and uneven, his body a heavy, satisfying weight on top of hers.

For a long moment, neither of them moved, the room filled only with the sound of their labored breathing. Finally, Bucky lifted his head, his damp hair clinging to his forehead as he looked at her with a mixture of relief and adoration.

A soft smile curved her lips as her hand caressed his stubbled cheek, "You okay?" she asked softly.

Bucky nodded, his steel-blue eyes searching hers, with a certain vulnerability flickering beneath the surface. "Yeah," he murmured. "Are you?"

Her answering smile was all the reassurance he needed. "More than okay,".

He exhaled a shaky breath, leaning down to press a lingering kiss to her forehead. Slowly, he rolled onto his side, pulling her against him, his arm wrapped securely around her waist.

She lay quietly in his arms, her fingers tracing idle patterns on his chest, as their breaths gradually evened out. But even in the calm, she could feel certain tension lingering in his body.

“What’s on your mind, Buck?” she asked softly

He hesitated, “I’m just… thinking.”

Her brows knitted together, “About what?”

Bucky sighed, his hand pausing its movements. “About how much of a goddamn mess I still am,” he admitted. “I don’t know what I’m doing half the time, and most days, it feels like I’m one bad decision away from falling apart again.” He swallowed hard, his gaze fixed somewhere over her shoulder. “But then there’s you.”

She remained silent, letting him gather his thoughts.

“I can’t stand the idea of you with someone else,” he continued, almost bitter as if the confession cost him. “It’s selfish, I know. You deserve someone who’s got their shit together, not someone like me.”

Her heart ached at his words. She reached up, cupping his cheek and turning his face so he had no choice but to look at her. “Bucky,” she said firmly, her voice steady despite the emotion swelling in her chest. “You’re not a mess. You’ve been through hell, and you’re still here, still trying, and that says more about who you are than anything else.”

He sighed, his hand moving to cover hers, holding it against his cheek. “Doesn’t change the fact that I’m broken.”

“Maybe,” she conceded softly, leaning closer. “But it isn’t have to be forever. You just need time. And you’re not alone in this.

His stormy blue eyes searched hers, raw with emotion, and for a moment, he looked like he might argue. But instead, he pulled her down, his lips capturing hers in a kiss that was soft, reverent, and full of unspoken promises.

A faint breeze filtered through the open window, carrying the scent of rain-soaked asphalt and the distant hum of the city settling into the night. Bucky closed his eyes, exhaling a deep breath that seemed to carry years of tension away with it.

“I don’t deserve this,” he murmured, the words so low she almost missed them.

“You don’t have to,” she replied softly, her voice muffled against his pulse point. “Just let yourself have it.”

Headers by @/strangergraphics

[cryobabiess]

girldad!geta pleeease!

Filia Divina

Pairing: Emperor Geta x Wife!reader

Tags: childbirth, pregnancy, miscarriage mentioned, implied infanticide, soft!geta (if you squint), historically accurate practices, NOT BETA READ SO IF YOU SEE SOMETHING WONKY NO YOU DIDN’T, good ole fashioned misogyny

AN: Tollere Liberos is in reference to an ancient Roman tradition where a father decides whether or not to accept a newborn as their child. Rejected children were abandoned via ‘expositus’ (aka dead ass just leaving a baby out in the wilderness). So basically girldad!geta but historically accurate lol. Enjoy!

It had only been an hour since you birthed her—a sweet little creature with curls the color of honey and supple skin like the flesh of a ripe plum. With a mighty wail fit to be heard across an empire, she came into the world. Your goddess, Juno, generously granted her the health and strength you prayed for. You rejoiced, though your joy was not shared.

The midwives cleaned your daughter in grave silence, save for the whispers of the politic-men gathered to witness the birth of Rome’s divine son. They huddled together in the far corner of the chamber as your girl laid against her mother’s chest for the first time.

“It cannot be true—look again!” Geta frantically commands the weary doctor. He paces across the marble floor in a state of distress. A litany of expressions troubles his face; disbelief, panic, betrayal.

“My lord, it is not what was desired, but I assure you—the child is female. You have my greatest sorrows.” The doctor mournfully bows his head, knowing better than to look the short tempered prince in the eye.

Geta was persistent, diligently sewing his seed in your womb since your holy union. You passed two of his children as blood, and he held you as you suffered through the pain. He watched your body grow when his efforts succeeded, massaged your taut skin with olive oil, and fed you bread soaked in sweet wine when you felt ill. He even kneeled at Jupiter’s alter to call for the safe delivery of his first son and the health of his wife—All these precautions only to be cruelly slighted.

“The gods have punished me, yet I’ve done nothing but bend to their will.” Geta holds his head in disbelief, his devastation made evident by a deep scowl.

Senator Gracchus tentatively approaches your distraught husband, resting a sympathetic hand on his shoulder.

“My lord, we must atone for our offenses, whatever they may be. It is a grave misfortune indeed, but your bride—“

Rage ignites across Geta’s face as he pulls away from his constituent’s touch.

“Speak tactfully of your empress if you wish to keep your tongue, Senator.” He seethes through a tight jaw. Gracchus relents, his tone softening considerably. He continues slowly and with caution.

“Two winters have passed since your union, and she has yet to bring forth an heir of Rome. Her body has proved inhospitable. The gods have sent a message, and it would be foolish to turn a cheek—you must heed this omen! ”

Geta takes a moment, carefully considering the senator’s plea for reason. He looks back to you, Obsidian eyes gazing down at the linen sheet that obscures your sleeping child.

“I am a conduit of their will. Tollere Liberos will prevail and the gods will decide through me.” Geta turns to you fully. Your heart becomes heavy in your chest as you search your husband’s face for tenderness, but see nothing but solid stone.

In your dreams, you imagined the day Geta approached his first heir as sweet—that he might kiss your reddened cheeks and proudly claim his child. Never did you think the sight of him would cause you to tighten your grip and cower away. He looms over the bed where you lay, exhausted and perspiring, like a holy monument.

“Show me the child.”

“My love, I beg you—“

“Your emperor commands it.” Geta callously interrupts.

You unwrap your daughter in your arms, trembling hands moving as gingerly as possible. She shifts in her sleep, curling her precious limbs toward her delicate body, but does not wake. Geta’s eyes widen at the sight of her.

“So it is true. My faithful wife’s womb has betrayed me.” His gaze softens. Something stirs behind it, but you are not sure what.

“If you wish to return her life, then be merciful and do the same with mine.” Your heart twists and aches, your love for your emperor becoming a knife in your rib.

To your shock, Geta reaches out to his daughter, takes her tiny fist in his palm, and runs a thumb over her blushing knuckles. She wraps her hand around her father’s finger with a mighty yawn.

You have seldom seen your restless husband become so still.

“She bears your resemblance.” Geta’s voice is but a whisper. His gaze doesn’t stray from her. It appears his heart aches the same as yours.

“And a head of golden hair.” You can only offer an exhausted smile.

Geta takes his daughter into his arms for the first time.

“The gods have spoken!” He declares to the small gathering of senators. Your emperor raises his girl above the laurels atop his head. Some look on with horror, and others with pride.

“She will have my name! It is done.”

As your daughter’s first weeks pass, Geta’s tenderness only grows. In the lavender hours of dawn, you wake to find him cradling her in the crook of his arm. He speaks to her softly.

“Poor girl, you have wounded your father’s pride. My, what tragedy.”

You smile at the sound of her gentle crooning as your husband assuages her back to sleep.

“A son would belong to Rome—but you, dear Septima, will belong to me.”

[spatialwave]

"my ambition" - part three | the prequel

➸ pairing: jayvik x fem!reader ➸ word count: 4.5k ➸ tags: mdni! minimal nsfw, fluffly, poly relationship, relationship beginnings, blossoming love, s1 act 1, no mention of y/n, alcohol use. ➸ notes: so excited to get this out! had a fun time giving this relationship history and i spent way too much time overthinking whether the ending was too rushed or if it was too self-indulgent... and then i realized its a fic so i get to do what i want LOL! pls let me know if you would like more parts, or if you want some drabbles about this specific trio. i would really appreciate it.🥹

<- part 2

You had always been academically gifted. Rising to the top of your classes each semester, pushing aside anyone in your way. Especially for a young woman, who had been accepted into the Academy before you had even finished your secondary schooling – a gifted student with the proudest of parents and professors.

Born with an influx of ambition flowing through your veins, knowing from a young age your duties to the world. It took more than wordy false promises to make a difference to Runeterra, it took action. That’s why you vowed to help Zaun.

What better way to take action, than to help those who had been long forgotten about. You were smart enough to see the way the city had been tossed aside, forgotten about, while Piltover only continued to grow and thrive. There was sickness festering underneath, people dying because of the less-than living conditions and poverty that swallowed it whole.

There were many days when you wondered if it was too much, if you, as a topsider, could actually make a difference. Would anyone want your help? The bigger question being – how were you going to help?

Then, you met Viktor. 

That was when your ambition rose higher than ever. A smart, young man a handful of years older than you – a man from Zaun himself. The youngest assistant to the dean, a title that was hard to come by, and rather jealousy inducing.

You’d weaseled your way into his life quite easily, finding him in the halls and striking conversation whenever you could. He was polite, and good at slipping away when your attention became overbearing. You couldn’t help your over-excitement for a scholar from the undercity. Someone who matched your levels of ambition. Someone who was able to teach you about the place that had been nothing more than whispers and off-hand comments by your peers.

You fell in love. Quickly, and hard.

Viktor, too. It was your smile, your innate excitement, the genuine intrigue you had of him and how he was able to share the experiences of chronic illness with someone who wasn’t just a damned doctor – someone who understood the pain. How could he not fall in love?

Viktor found himself appreciating you more and more with each passing day, wondering when you’d sneak through the halls to find him to share your newest revelation.

Wondering when he could be expected to be pulled into a broom closet so you could ravage his lips with your own. He hadn’t been so experienced with romance until you appeared in his life, content with focusing on his studies at the academy. You changed the trajectory of his life—and so had Jayce.

-

”Hextech?” You raised an eyebrow, sitting on a stone bench within the academy courtyard and holding a half-eaten apple in your hand, “I don’t know. Sounds… unstable,” you murmured honestly, looking between Viktor’s eyes as he stood in front of you. You took another bite, the sweet flavour calming you.

You had to admit, as much as you were uncomfortable with this new scientific breakthrough, so to speak, you had never seen Viktor quite this excited about anything.

“Precisely,” Viktor said, eyes practically shimmering as he spoke to you, “that’s why you’re going to help.”

“No way,” you huffed, standing on your feet and waving him away, “you just told me that all the work got confiscated, how the hell would I even help?” You spoke in a hushed whisper, as if Heimerdinger himself was listening in to the conversation.

“Eh, confiscated is a loose term,” he said, taking a step toward you, a gentle hand on your shoulder. You tensed at the touch, turning your head from his gaze and shaking your head adamantly.

You had morals, and perhaps you listened to the dean a bit too much at times. Science was incredible, but ethics were important, and the explosion was proof that it was an unpredictable type of magic. If Heimerdinger made the call that hextech was unsafe, a yordle with decades over your own experiences, then you should listen, no?

“It has the capabilities of helping more than just the city,” he urged, fingers tightening on your shoulder, “Please. Let us show you.”

Those words tugged at your heartstrings, leaving you conflicted as your heart yearned to know more. You took a deep breath, closing your eyes momentarily as your mind reeled at all the possibilities.

The first image to pop in your mind was the proper union of Zaun and Piltover, an incredible feat that no one could ever pull off. No more distinction between the two – just one beautiful place to live. Your dream.

Could hextech really be the key?

“Fine,” you sighed, crinkling your nose and opening your eyes, “but I’m under no obligation to like this Jayce guy, he sounds like he doesn’t know how to properly take care of his research.” You looked up at Viktor through your lashes, watching the way the corners of his lips curved into a small smile, “Why are you smiling like that?”

—

“Crank it!” Jayce exclaimed from his chair, eyes full of childlike wonder, as Viktor stood at the chalkboard, crossing through equations and murmuring about the research he was still properly acquainting himself with.

You, however, stood next to Jayce, chewing hard on your bottom lip as your partner agreed with his words.

It all seemed fine, plausible, even. Yet, you remained apprehensive.

“And it if it doesn’t stabilize, what then? Part two of the great blue explosion that destroyed your apartment?” You asked, eyes focusing on the man sitting, his honey-coloured eyes shining as they watched you. Your stomach twisted tight, hating the way he made you fill with butterflies.

You knew him for less than twenty-four hours, and he already had you twisted around his fingers. Gods.

It was completely unfair to be caught between them both.

“It’s worth a test,” he was adamant, then a sigh left his lips, “but we don’t have access to my equipment.”

“Which is being destroyed tomorrow,” Viktor murmured, eyes back on the chalkboard and fingers touching his chin as he was lost deep in thought.

You jumped when Jayce stood quickly, the chair he sat on nearly toppling over.

“What?” he asked, panic rising in his throat.

“Oh, yeah,” Viktor cringed, looking over his shoulder at Jayce, “Sorry. I meant to tell you.”

You could sense the way Jayce was teetering on the edge of a breakdown, his breath hitching in his throat as he rambled on about how it was his life work, how they could show the council the equations to show them the proof. There had to be something!

But Viktor was right, proof wasn’t reliable on paper. They needed physical proof. A real test.

“We can’t do it without the crystals. The enforcers took them all, they’re gone,” Jayce ran his hands over his face as he collapsed onto the chair once more, deflated from the situation.

Your hand rested atop his shoulder, giving a gentle squeeze, much like Viktor did with you when you were overworked. Jayce flickered his gaze to you, those puppy-like eyes offering a silent ‘thank-you’.

“Mhm,” Viktor hummed, “locked away in Heimerdinger’s lab,” he continued, eyes settling on you.

“No,” you were quick to know where he was going with this, “Count me out, we are not breaking in.”

“She’s right,” Jayce said, eyes widening, “you heard the council, if we’re wrong–”

“Better be right then,” Viktor interrupted, and Jayce’s eyes sparkled with possibility.

You felt a tightness in your chest, shaking your head as you took a step back. The two of them spoke back and forth, but you hadn’t been listening. Just as you reached the boiling point, you turned on your heels and took a step away, but Jayce was quick to turn his attention back to you. He stepped forward, hand grabbing your wrist, and you felt your heart jump up into your throat.

“Stay,” he pleaded, hand tightening.

You huffed a loud sigh through your nostrils, brows creasing together and lifting. Gods, why did he have to be so goddamned charming? You hardly noticed the curious look that Viktor gave you two before rolling his eyes and turning back to the chalkboard. The smirk on his lips well hidden.

“Fine!” You snapped, pulling your arm from his grip, “but if we get caught I’m telling everyone that you two made me do it. I am not taking the fall for this.”

Jayce grinned, a toothy smile that lit your cheeks aflame, “Deal.”

You stayed a few feet behind the two men, arms crossed over your chest, as you careened through the halls quietly. You were hardly a rule breaker, in fact, usually a stickler for keeping peace. It was in your nature, like many topsiders.

When the three of you reached the door, you felt panic rising as footsteps echoed down the hall from where you had just come from.

“Shit,” Jayce whispered, “hurry.”

Viktor was fiddling with the keys, fingers filtering through them until he found the one for Heimerdinger’s lab. With practiced ease, he slipped the key into the door lock, twisting back and forth until it clicked.

Both you and Jayce were standing side-by-side, watching a flashlight in the distance, pointing in your direction, but too far to pick up on the three figures breaking in.

Viktor opened the door, and they stepped inside, but you were frozen. Unable to tear your gaze away from the enforcer that had been doing patrols and walking right toward you.

“Ah!” You gasped when there was a harsh tug on your arm, stumbling into the laboratory and crashing against Jayce’s chest. Viktor closed the door behind you without even the slightest creaking – a perfectly silent entrance.

“You've never broken a rule in your life, have you?” Jayce smiled, eyes watching you with curiosity as you pulled away from him yet again. You opened your mouth to answer but Viktor cut you off.

“She is a law-abiding citizen,” he answered, supporting himself on his cane as he walked further into the lab, looking around for the confiscated equipment.

“Can you guys keep it down? They’ll hear us.” You whispered, pushing past Jayce. Annoyed, and thankful the redness on your cheeks wasn’t visible in the darkened room.

“Huh,” Jayce grinned in response to Viktor, walking behind you as he looked around the lab, “you’re not kidding.”

“Shut up.” You hissed.

Settling in the lab, you stood off to the side, peering at some of Heimerdinger’s books as Jayce scrambled to find the pieces of his work. You listened to the sounds of the electrical whirring as he welded the parts back together, lost in thought as your fingers traced over the spine of a book.

A hand lifted to the small of your back, startling you for a moment.

“Sorry,” Viktor murmured, eyes watching you.

“It’s okay,” you chuckled, smiling as you leaned against him. Silence grew between you two as you slowly dropped your hand from the bookcase. You glanced at Viktor, biting down on the inside of your lip in habit, “Do you think hextech really has the strength to help people? Like us?”

Those honey-eyes softened as they flickered over your nervous expression, and he nodded, “I do.”

With a deep inhale, you tried to let go of your apprehension to the situation. This was for the best. If you wanted to reach your dreams, you had to run over a few toes, right?

“It’s all here,” Jayce called from his spot at the table, pulling the goggles off of his face and turning to look over at you two.

Viktor held up a blue hextech crystal to you, one from the handful that was confiscated, and when you offered him a questionable look, he insisted with the forward movement of his hand. Slowly, you reached out and took it in your fingers, feeling the rigid orb press against your skin.

This was it.

You pressed a kiss to his cheek before making your way to Jayce, who had been looking at you two with a small smile.

“Here,” you said, offering the crystal with an open palm as you stood next to him, Viktor coming up beside you.

Jayce reached out, taking the crystal, but not without a lingering touch to your hand. Viktor took notice, a sparkle in his eyes that you hadn’t noticed as you watched in curiosity as the hextech crystal was placed into the machinery.

It glowed a bright blue hue, sparks from the crystal illuminating the room. You had never seen anything so beautiful.

“It’s time to crank it!” Viktor said excitedly as he snapped close one of Jayce’s notebooks he had spent time looking through the past few days, looking in front of you and toward Jayce.

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” He asked, growing uncertain as Viktor sucked back a breath and shook his head.

“Do it,” you interjected, eyes wide as you stared at the beauty of the hextech. The inner scientist in you couldn’t be tamed any longer, you needed to see what this could do. It was almost addicting, and you couldn’t look away. It had sucked you in completely, “you have to try.”

They shared a look between each other, swallowing lumps down their throats. Viktor leaned forward, pressing the button of the machine, and it began to spin. It gained enough speed that it created a constant blow of wind that pushed your hair back wildly – electric currents flying wildly.

“I don’t think it’s going to hold!” Jayce said loudly, the electrical crackling of the machine deafening all other noses, “look at the buildup!”

“The resonance will stabilize it, trust me,” Viktor returned, sharing a thoughtful look with Jayce, an attempt to calm him.

You, however, were unable to look away. You stared at the wild glows of blue, a smile on your face, and blissfully unaware of the enforcers that were making their way up to the laboratory after seeing the blue light shining from the windows of the lab.

Moments later, the chaos settled, and you gasped with a big smile, hands slamming on the tabletop, “this is incredible!” You exclaimed in awe, watching as it stabilized.

Viktor smiled to himself, his hand finding your back yet again, “told you it would work,” he said encouragingly, eyes flickering to Jayce, “all yours.”

“It’s never done that before,” he murmured to himself, unable to tear his gaze from the slowly spinning crystal that sent waves of electricity to the surrounding runes, “...alright. Here we go.”

Hesitantly, he reached to the button Viktor had pressed, twisting the knob several times, so the surrounding runes began to spin and orbit the crystal.

You watched expectantly as Jayce twisted it over and over, creating different pathways for the crystal to spark energy. You couldn’t help but lean closer, even when the out flowing electricity stung your cheeks.

What the three of you hadn’t expected was a surge of energy to blast out, nearly toppling you all and breaking the lab’s windows. Within the impact, you fell right into Jayce with a yelp. Strong arms wrapped around you as he reached for the knob, and you clung to him, face buried into his chest.

The energy was strong, and for a moment you prepared for the untimely death of three scientists who just wanted to change lives. How fitting.

Then, the glass from the window flew back into place, as though time around you reversed, causing a brief moment of respite and enough time for Jayce to push forward and slam his hand on the button. The crystal fell back into place, and you were all able to breathe.

Slowly, you peeled yourself away from Jayce, feeling around your face and body to make sure your body was still completely intact.

“Incredible,” Viktor beamed, smiling, “we need to try again.”

You and Jayce shared a look, silently agreeing that it was now or never. And for you, there was no more backing out.

This time, you took a few steps back, not wanting to be caught up in the aftermath of a worse explosion, but still curious enough to peek over their shoulders. As you settled back, you swore you heard sounds coming from the hallway, but it was hard to tell over the crackling sounds of the hextech.

Pressing your ear against the door, you closed your eyes to focus, and you gasped.

“Someone’s coming,” you told them, hands holding the doorknob tight, “you better hurry.”

Viktor took a few steps to the door, sliding his cane through the handles of the door so it was snug, “better than nothing.”

The two of you shared a startled gasp, the rattling of the door loud when the enforcers reached the door and began to hit it with force, kicking and yelling for you to open up. Heimerdinger was with them.

“Stop this lunacy at once!” He called from beyond the door, and your gut twisted in guilt.

A few more heavy kicks and the door creaked.

“They’re almost through,” Viktor said, turning around back to Jayce’s side, “no pressure.”

“That sounds like pressure!” Jayce yelled, working hard to synchronize the runes with the knob. He looked over his shoulder at you, who was now pressing against the door with your weight. With each kick of the door, you huffed, doing your best to keep them from pushing it in.

A rather heavy kick caused you to stumble, but you got right back to it, watching over your shoulder as Jayce closed his eyes and focused on the hextech. 

Your attention was pulled back to the door when the cane cracked, and you tried to push against the door, but it was no use. One more kick and you’d be goners.

But the hextech won.

The sound of another surge pushed you against the door, and you panicked at the intensity that felt like it was going to crush you, and then suddenly… you were weightless. You turned to Jayce and Viktor, eyes wide, as you all had begun to float up into the air.

After one more kick, they broke inside, but the surge reached them, too. They stumbled back, while you had started laughing.

It was incredible, absolutely incredible.

“Excuse me, underfoot,” Heimerdinger spoke, pushing past the enforcer and stepping inside his lab, gasping when his eyes landed on you three.

You were nearly touching the ceiling, floating with your belly to the ground and caught slowly spinning between Jayce and Viktor. Your giggles erupted into a fit of laughter, unable to control it as you twisted around in the air. 

Jayce flicked a piece of metal, where it floated through a glowing blue orb that was just above you, and it shot out right at Viktor. You collectively gasped, taking everything in.

This was magic and science blurred together, a medley of perfection. Hextech worked. You did it!

“Will you please stop hovering?” Heimerdinger spoke, looking up as you spun your body around, touching and prodding at debris.

It was like swimming, you were able to push yourself, and you accidentally collided against Jayce, the two of you sharing a laugh. You couldn’t quite place it, but as your eyes caught his, you felt something – like a mutual intrigue of each other. Was attraction too strong of a word? Your cheeks reddened, matching his own, then he cleared his throat and turned his gaze away.

“I’m not sure how to do that, sir,” Viktor finally responded, pushing toward you both and smiling as the three of you moved around together smoothly, not touching. Floating. Feeling free.

Like all things in life, it didn’t last. The surged power of the hextech settled, and thankfully it was a smooth descend that kept you three from any broken bones.

Viktor had been wrangled by Heimerdinger, only after a good verbal lashing that included you and Jayce. Blabbering about the rules, ethics and how dangerous this was. At the end, your partner had been whisked away for damage control, trying to explain everything and to keep any of you three from penalties and punishments.

It left you and Jayce to clean up, gathering everything together into the back area of the lab, still in awe over everything that had happened.

Once finished, you stepped out into the brisk night air first, somehow still chipper enough to bounce down the steps while Jayce hustled behind you. You hadn’t been so inclined to do goodbyes, but he stopped you with a hand on your wrist, much like earlier. It sent a shiver up your arm.

“Wait,” he said, and you faced him, battling the redness that crept up your neck as you tried to remain composed, “will you stay?” he asked, grip loosening on your wrist, “to help us, I mean.”

“With the hextech? Of course,” you answered, rolling your eyes playfully, “Who in their right mind would see that and not want to explore it? That was incredible, Jayce. You should be really proud of yourself.”

A smile lifted at the corners of his cheeks, the compliment doing wonders to the insecurities that lie deep within him.

“Wanted to make sure,” he eventually said, dropping your wrist as you both ventured away and into Piltover, toward your homes, “I like you. Well, I mean – you’re good to have around. Smart, you know.”

A giggle bubbled up, a hand lifting to your mouth to try to stifle it, “you’re a dork, just like Viktor.”

Jayce smiled at you, biting down on his bottom lip as the two of you ventured down the streets together, “how long have you two been together?”

The question was quick to fluster you as you met Jayce’s curious gaze. You wondered if the question accidentally slipped out, and you could ignore it, but you could tell he was waiting for an answer.

“Oh, uh, just a couple of months. Officially.” You answered shyly, hands clasped behind your back as you walked side-by-side.

“That’s nice,” he murmured, “...so, has he always been so absurdly intense about science? Don’t get me wrong, I like everything about his ambitions, he’s a great guy for even wanting to help me. He’s just—“

“Surprisingly eccentric?” You laughed, nodding, “when he gets excited about something, it’s like his brain goes haywire. I suppose that’s the way of being an ambitious innovator”

“Yeah, I suppose so,” Jayce smiled, quietly admiring you in the moonlight. Studying and memorizing everything he could.

The two of you ended up walking around aimlessly, indulging in small chatter as you shared your hopes and dreams. You shared nearly everything you could about your life, and he told his story about him and his mother, and how that sparked his discovery towards hextech. It was easy to talk to Jayce, to get lost in his voice – he was just so damned kind.

Nearly an hour passed when you finally approached your apartment, which was rather close to the Academy. The two of you had simply taken a few detours around the neighbouring streets.

“Trust me, if you want to get on the dean’s good side, then you need to…” your voice drifted off when your eyes settled on a certain individual sitting outside on a stone bench. Broken cane in his hand and looking up at the sky. “Viktor!” You called out, rushing ahead, “if I had known you were coming back to mine, I would’ve hurried back.”

He turned to look at you two, raising a curious eyebrow and smirking as Jayce slowed his pace behind you, “I have only been here a few minutes, it’s all right.”

You dug around for your keys in your pocket, walking up to him and outstretching an arm for support as he stood. He could walk relatively okay without his cane, but you still enjoyed the way he would lean on you. It became habitual between you two.

“I should leave you both to it,” Jayce cleared his throat, giving an awkward wave as you two ventured toward the apartment.

“Why don’t you come in?” Viktor asked, motioning for him to follow.

You looked up at him in interest, figuring the two of you would be falling asleep the moment you got inside. Nonetheless, you went along with it.

“No, no, it’s late. I don’t want to overstay–”

“Come inside, Jayce. We don’t bite.”

Viktor was convincing enough, or perhaps Jayce had too much of a soft spot for him because he was quick to accept the invitation.

It ended up being a great night, the three of you crowding around your kitchen table. Drinking some nicely aged wine you had hidden away for only the most important occasions. You celebrated your shared success and discussed everything hextech, the possibilities and what you hoped it would provide. You shared laughs, especially as the night went on, and you had all begun to feel a bit delirious at times as the sun began lighting the sky above the horizon and the wine settled in your stomachs.

“Well, I hate to be the one to end the night,” you smiled, sleep beginning to win its war over you, “I’m tired and sore, I should get some sleep.”

“Yeah, I should get back to mine, or, what’s left of it,” Jayce agreed with a dampened chuckle, eyes flickering out of the window to gauge the time with the colour of the skyline.

“Why don’t you stay the night?” The question fell from your lips much too quickly, unsure if it was your overt politeness or an underlying desire that lead it, “if you’re okay with that.” You shot your gaze to Viktor.

It felt like hours, but the few seconds you took to share a look said lots. A silent agreement about your shared feelings for Jayce.

“Sure,” he answered. A shy smile tugged at your lips, and your lover turned back to Jayce.

The man seemed a bit uncertain, and maybe a bit too tipsy to understand the looks thrown at him. His amber eyes jumped between you two, “I’ve intruded far too mu–”

“Stay.” Your voice mixed with Viktor’s almost too perfectly, in complete synchronization.

“Okay.”

The night became a blur. It was Viktor who had led you both to the bedroom, the wine clouding all judgment from the three parties and allowing you to just be. To indulge in each other without wondering what would come next. To allow yourselves to act on attraction and lust with nothing holding you back.

“I’m glad you stayed,” you murmured, lips lingering along the stubble on Jayce’s jawline. Viktor, who was behind you, peppered kisses along your bare shoulders.

“Me too,” Jayce breathed in response, hands careening your naked body and intertwining with Viktor’s fingers with they met over your hip.

“Let’s stop talking,” Viktor mumbled with a quick nip at your skin, the confidence in his voice sending a shiver down your spine.

Jayce wasn’t quite certain how he managed to be wrangled in by you both, but he wasn’t going to complain. Not when, for once, everything felt right.

[pucksandpower]

Until Next Time

Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: in which two soulmates are destined to always find each other only to be torn apart lifetime after lifetime after lifetime … until finally, they’re not (aka the reincarnation AU)

Mycenae, 1208 BC

The sun beats down mercilessly on the marble steps of the temple. You stand at the top, your white chiton billowing in the warm breeze. Your eyes scan the crowd gathered below, searching for one face among the sea of onlookers.

“Where is he?” You whisper, your heart pounding.

A firm hand grips your shoulder. “It’s time, princess,” your father’s voice rumbles behind you.

You turn to face him, eyes pleading. “Father, please. This can’t be the only way.”

The king’s face is a mask of stone, but his eyes betray a flicker of sorrow. “The gods have spoken. We must obey.”

As he speaks, a commotion erupts at the base of the temple steps. Your breath catches in your throat as you spot Max pushing through the crowd, his face contorted with desperation.

“No!” He shouts, his voice carrying over the murmur of the crowd. “You can’t do this!”

Two guards grab him, restraining his arms as he struggles against their grip.

“Let me go!” Max yells, his eyes locking with yours. “She’s innocent! Take me instead!”

You start to move towards him, but your father’s grip tightens. “Don’t,” he warns.

“Max,” you call out, your voice breaking. “It’s okay. This is my duty.”

Max shakes his head violently. “No, it’s not! This is madness!”

The high priest approaches, his ornate robes rustling as he walks. “The sacrifice must be made,” he intones. “The gods demand it.”

You feel a chill run down your spine despite the heat. The priest’s eyes are cold as he regards you.

“Please,” Max begs, still struggling against the guards. “There has to be another way. Let me speak to the oracle. Maybe-”

“Silence!” The priest snaps. “The decision has been made. The princess will ensure a bountiful harvest for our people.”

You swallow hard, trying to steady your voice. “Max, listen to me. I need you to be strong.”

His struggles subside slightly as he focuses on your words.

“Remember what we talked about?” You continue. “About the stars?”

Max’s brow furrows in confusion for a moment before his eyes widen in recognition. “The cycle,” he breathes.

You nod, forcing a smile. “This isn’t the end. We’ll find each other again. I promise.”

“No,” Max shakes his head, tears streaming down his face. “I can’t lose you. Not like this.”

The priest clears his throat impatiently. “We must proceed.”

Your father gently guides you towards the altar. You resist the urge to look back at Max, knowing it will only make this harder.

“Wait!” Max calls out. “Just ... just let me say goodbye. Please.”

The king hesitates, then nods to the guards. They release Max, who rushes up the steps towards you.

He reaches you, cupping your face in his hands. “I love you,” he whispers fiercely. “In this life and every life to come.”

You lean into his touch, memorizing the feeling of his skin against yours. “I love you too. Always.”

Max’s lips crash into yours, desperate and salty with tears. For a moment, the world fades away, and it’s just the two of you.

Then rough hands are pulling you apart. Max struggles, but the guards drag him back down the steps.

“No!” He roars. “You can’t do this! She’s everything to me!”

You force yourself to look away, focusing on the altar before you. The priest approaches, a gleaming dagger in his hand.

“Oh great gods,” he begins to chant. “Accept this offering and bless our lands.”

You close your eyes, trying to block out Max’s anguished cries. You think of stars, of cycles, of promises of reunion.

The dagger plunges, and pain explodes through your body. As darkness creeps in at the edges of your vision, you hear Max’s voice, raw with grief.

“I’ll find you,” he vows. “In the next life, and the next, and the next. We’ll be together again. I swear it.”

As your consciousness fades, you cling to that promise. This isn’t the end, you tell yourself. It’s just the beginning of a much longer story.

Your last thought before the world goes black is of Max’s eyes, filled with love and determination. Somehow, you know that this is not goodbye — it’s just until next time.

London, 1542

The heavy oak door of your chambers creaks open, and you look up from your embroidery, heart leaping at the sight of Max slipping inside. His eyes dart nervously around the room before settling on you.

“My lady,” he whispers urgently, crossing the room in quick strides. “We must speak.”

You set aside your needlework, rising to meet him. “What is it? You look as though you’ve seen a ghost.”

He takes your hands in his, his touch sending a familiar thrill through you despite the gravity in his expression. “It’s worse than that, I’m afraid. I’ve heard whispers in the court ...”

Your breath catches. “What kind of whispers?”

Max’s jaw clenches. “Accusations. Terrible ones. They’re saying you’ve been unfaithful to the king.”

You gasp, shaking your head vehemently. “That’s absurd! I would never-”

“I know,” Max interrupts, squeezing your hands. “But the truth matters little when it comes to Henry’s jealousy. You know how he is.”

A chill runs down your spine as you remember the fate of the king’s previous wives. “What am I to do?”

Max’s eyes blaze with determination. “We’ll run away. Tonight. I have friends who can help us reach the coast. From there, we can sail to France or-”

The sound of heavy footsteps in the corridor cuts him off. You both freeze, staring at the door in mounting dread.

“Quick,” you hiss, pushing Max towards a tapestry-covered alcove. “Hide!”

He resists for a moment. “I won’t leave you-”

“You must,” you insist. “If they find you here, it will only make things worse.”

Reluctantly, Max ducks behind the tapestry just as the door bursts open. The king’s guards pour in, led by Thomas Cromwell himself.

“My lady,” Cromwell says with a cold smile. “I’m afraid you must come with us.”

You lift your chin, summoning every ounce of royal dignity. “On what grounds, Lord Cromwell?”

His smile doesn’t waver. “Treason, my lady. His Majesty has evidence of your ... indiscretions.”

“That’s impossible,” you protest. “I’ve been nothing but faithful to the king.”

Cromwell gestures to the guards. “Search the room. Thoroughly.”

Your heart pounds as they begin tearing through your belongings. You silently pray that Max remains hidden and undetected.

“This is outrageous,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady. “I demand to speak to the king himself.”

“His Majesty has no desire to see you,” Cromwell replies. “The evidence speaks for itself.”

One of the guards approaches, holding a folded piece of parchment. “My lord, we found this hidden in her jewelry box.”

Cromwell snatches it, his eyes scanning the contents. His smirk widens. “Well, well. A love letter, it seems. Quite damning, wouldn’t you agree?”

You shake your head in disbelief. “That’s not mine. I’ve never seen it before!”

“A poor defense, my lady,” Cromwell tuts. “Come now, we mustn’t keep the Tower waiting.”

As the guards move to seize you, Max bursts from his hiding place. “Stop!” He shouts. “She’s innocent!”

Cromwell’s eyebrows raise in mock surprise. “And who might you be, young man?”

Max stands tall, his gaze unwavering. “I can vouch for the queen’s innocence.”

“Can you now?” Cromwell’s tone is dangerously soft. “And how, pray tell, would you know such a thing?”

You see the trap too late. “Max, don’t-”

But he’s already speaking. “Because I’ve been watching over her. Protecting her. I would know if she had been unfaithful.”

Cromwell’s eyes glitter with triumph. “Watching over her, you say? How ... intimate. Guards, seize him as well.”

“No!” You cry out as the guards grab Max. “He’s done nothing wrong!”

“On the contrary,” Cromwell replies. “He’s just confessed to an inappropriate relationship with the queen. That’s treason, my dear.”

Max struggles against the guards. “It’s not like that! I love her, yes, but we’ve never-”

“Enough!” Cromwell snaps. “Take them both to the Tower. His Majesty will decide their fate.”

As the guards drag you from the room, your eyes meet Max’s. In that moment, a strange sense of déjà vu washes over you. You’ve been here before, somehow. Torn apart by forces beyond your control.

“It’s happening again,” Max says softly, his eyes wide with realization.

You nod, a sad smile touching your lips. “The cycle continues.”

“What are you two babbling about?” Cromwell demands.

Neither of you answer. What could you say that he would understand?

As you’re led through the winding corridors of the palace, Max’s voice carries to you. “I’ll find a way to save you. I swear it.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” you call back, your voice catching.

“I kept the last one, didn’t I?” He replies. “I found you again.”

Memories flood your mind — hazy images of another life, another time. A temple, a sacrifice, a vow made in desperation.

“So you did,” you whisper.

The journey to the Tower passes in a blur. Before you know it, you’re being locked in a cold, damp cell. Through the small barred window, you can see the executioner’s block in the courtyard below.

Days pass. You pace your cell, alternating between fear and a strange sense of calm. This isn’t the end, you remind yourself. Somehow, you know it to be true.

When they come for you, you hold your head high. As you’re led to the block, you scan the crowd, searching for Max’s face. You spot him, restrained by guards, his face a mask of anguish.

“I love you,” he mouths.

“Until next time,” you reply silently.

As you kneel at the block, you close your eyes. You think of stars and cycles, of promises kept across lifetimes. The axe falls, and darkness descends.

Your last conscious thought is a mixture of sorrow and hope. This chapter may be ending, but your story with Max is far from over. In another time, another place, you’ll find each other again. The wheel turns, and the cycle continues.

Florence, 1633

The flickering candlelight casts long shadows across the cluttered study. You pace nervously, your skirts swishing against the worn floorboards. Max hunches over his desk, quill scratching furiously across parchment.

“Max,” you plead, “please reconsider. It’s not too late to recant.”

He looks up, his eyes bright with fervor. “I can’t, my love. The truth is too important.”

You move to his side, resting a hand on his shoulder. “More important than your life?”

Max covers your hand with his, his touch warm and familiar. “Some truths are worth dying for.”

“And what about living for?” You counter. “What about us?”

He stands, pulling you into an embrace. “Everything I do, I do for us. For a world where we can live freely, without the shackles of ignorance.”

You bury your face in his chest, inhaling his scent of ink and parchment. “I fear those shackles are stronger than you think.”

A sharp knock at the door makes you both jump. Max moves to answer it, but you grab his arm.

“Don’t,” you whisper. “It could be them.”

Max’s jaw sets stubbornly. “If it is, hiding won’t change anything.”

He strides to the door and throws it open. A young man stands there, panting heavily.

“Master,” he gasps. “They’re coming. The Inquisition. You must flee!”

Max’s face pales, but his voice remains steady. “Thank you for the warning, Giovanni. You should go before they arrive.”

The young man nods and disappears into the night. Max turns to you, his expression grim.

“You should go too,” he says softly. “There’s no reason for both of us to face their wrath.”

You shake your head fiercely. “I’m not leaving you.”

“Please,” Max implores. “I couldn’t bear it if something happened to you because of me.”

“And I couldn’t bear to abandon you,” you retort. “We’re in this together, remember?”

A ghost of a smile touches Max’s lips. “Always.”

You help him gather his most important papers and instruments, working quickly in the oppressive silence. As Max secures the last of his writings, you hear the ominous sound of marching feet approaching.

“It’s too late,” you breathe.

Max squares his shoulders. “Then we face them with dignity.”

The door bursts open, and armored men pour into the small study. At their head is Cardinal Bellarmine, his face a mask of righteous anger.

“Apostate,” he intones. “You stand accused of heresy against the Holy Church.”

Max steps forward, his voice calm. “I stand accused of seeking the truth, Your Eminence.”

The Cardinal’s eyes narrow. “You spread dangerous lies. You claim the Earth is not the center of God’s creation!”

“I claim only what the evidence suggests,” Max counters. “The movements of the heavens themselves tell us-”

“Blasphemy!” Bellarmine roars. “You would elevate your flawed observations above the word of God?”

You can’t stay silent any longer. “My lord Cardinal, surely God gave us minds to seek understanding. How can the pursuit of knowledge be heresy?”

Bellarmine’s gaze snaps to you. “And who is this who dares to question the Church’s judgment?”

Max steps protectively in front of you. “Leave her out of this. She’s done nothing wrong.”

“She defends a heretic,” the Cardinal sneers. “That alone is cause for suspicion.”

You feel a chill run down your spine, but you stand your ground. “I defend a good man who seeks only to understand the wonders of God’s creation.”

Bellarmine waves dismissively. “Take them both. We’ll sort out her involvement later.”

As the guards move to seize you, Max erupts into action. He grabs a heavy tome from his desk and hurls it at the nearest guard, then pushes you towards the window.

“Run!” He shouts. “I’ll hold them off!”

You hesitate, torn between fleeing and staying by his side. In that moment of indecision, a guard grabs you roughly by the arm.

“No!” Max cries out, lunging towards you.

Another guard intercepts him, slamming the butt of his halberd into Max’s stomach. He crumples to the ground, gasping for air.

“Stop!” You plead. “We’ll come peacefully. Just don’t hurt him.”

Bellarmine smirks. “A wise decision. Though I’m afraid it’s too late for leniency.”

As the guards bind your hands, you lock eyes with Max. There’s a strange, sad recognition in his gaze.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I thought this time would be different.”

You shake your head, a bittersweet smile on your lips. “It’s not your fault. It never is.”

Bellarmine looks between you, confusion evident on his face. “What nonsense is this?”

Neither of you answer.

You’re led from the study, through the torch-lit streets to the forbidding walls of the Inquisition’s headquarters. As you’re separated and thrown into different cells, Max’s voice carries to you.

“I’ll find you again. I swear it.”

“In this life or the next,” you call back, your voice breaking.

Days blur together in your dank cell. You’re questioned relentlessly about Max’s work, about your involvement. You reveal nothing, clinging to the hope that your silence might somehow spare him.

When they finally come for you, you know it’s not good news. You’re led to a small courtyard where a pyre has been erected. Your heart sinks as you see Max already tied to the stake, his face bruised but defiant.

“Heathen,” Bellarmine proclaims, “you have been found guilty of heresy. Do you repent your sins?”

Max’s eyes find yours in the crowd. “My only sin,” he says clearly, “is loving truth more than dogma.”

The Cardinal’s face darkens. “Then may God have mercy on your soul. Light the pyre.”

As the flames begin to lick at Max’s feet, you can’t contain yourself any longer. You break free from your guards and run towards the pyre.

“No!” You scream. “Max!”

He looks at you, his eyes full of love and sorrow. “Until next time, my love. We’ll get it right someday.”

The guards grab you, dragging you back as the flames engulf Max. His agonized cries pierce the air, but his gaze never leaves yours.

As the light fades from his eyes, you feel a piece of your soul shatter. But deep within, a tiny spark of hope remains. This isn’t the end, you tell yourself. It can’t be.

Somewhere, somewhen, you’ll find each other again. The wheel turns, the cycle continues, and your love endures beyond death itself.

Atlantic Ocean, 1912

The grand ballroom of the Titanic thrums with life, an orchestra playing a lively waltz as couples twirl across the polished floor. You stand at the edge of the crowd, your gloved hands fidgeting with your beaded gown. Your eyes scan the room, searching for one face in particular.

“Looking for someone?” A familiar voice asks behind you.

You turn, a smile lighting up your face as you see Max, dashing in his tailored suit. “There you are! I was beginning to think you’d gotten lost.”

Max grins, offering you his arm. “Even on a ship this size? Never. Though I must admit, I did take a wrong turn or two.”

You laugh, taking his arm. “Well, I’m glad you found your way eventually. I’ve been dying to dance with you all evening.”

As Max leads you onto the dance floor, a strange sense of déjà vu washes over you. You’ve danced with him before, you think. In grand halls and humble taverns, across centuries ...

“What’s that look for?” Max asks, pulling you from your reverie as he places a hand on your waist.

You shake your head, smiling. “Nothing. Just ... happy, I suppose.”

He beams at you as you begin to waltz. “As am I. Being here with you, it feels ... right. Like everything’s fallen into place.”

You nod, leaning into him slightly. “I know exactly what you mean.”

As you dance, the world seems to fade away. It’s just you and Max, moving in perfect synchronicity. But the spell is broken as a violent shudder runs through the ship.

Max steadies you as you stumble. “What was that?”

Around you, other passengers are looking around in confusion. The music has stopped, the musicians exchanging worried glances.

“I’m not sure,” you reply, a sense of unease growing in your stomach. “Perhaps we should-”

Your words are cut off as a ship’s officer bursts into the ballroom. “Ladies and gentlemen, please remain calm. We’ve struck an iceberg, but there’s no immediate danger. As a precaution, we ask that you all put on life vests and make your way to the boat deck.”

A ripple of nervous chatter sweeps through the crowd. Max’s grip on your hand tightens.

“We should go,” he says urgently. “Now.”

You nod, allowing him to lead you through the increasingly panicked throng. As you make your way through the corridors, the ship’s list becomes more pronounced.

“This is bad,” Max mutters, helping you navigate a particularly steep section. “Much worse than they’re letting on.”

You reach your cabin, quickly donning life vests over your evening wear. As you step back into the corridor, you’re met with a tide of frightened passengers.

“We need to get to the boat deck,” Max says, his voice steady despite the fear in his eyes. “Stay close to me.”

You push through the crowd, the ship’s groans and creaks growing louder with each passing moment. When you finally reach the deck, chaos greets you. Officers are struggling to maintain order as passengers clamor for spots in the too-few lifeboats.

“Women and children first!” An officer shouts over the din.

Max turns to you, his face pale but determined. “You need to get on a boat.”

You shake your head vehemently. “Not without you.”

“Please,” he begs, cupping your face in his hands. “I couldn’t bear to lose you.”

A memory flashes through your mind — Max saying those same words in another time, another place. Always trying to save you.

“And I couldn’t bear to leave you,” you insist. “We stay together. No matter what.”

Max’s eyes search yours for a long moment before he nods. “Together, then.”

As the night wears on, it becomes clear that there won’t be enough lifeboats for everyone. You and Max help where you can, assisting women and children into the boats. The temperature drops, your breath visible in the frigid air.

“I think that’s the last one,” Max says as you watch the final lifeboat disappear into the darkness.

You look around the rapidly tilting deck. Those who remain are a mix of resigned, terrified, and in denial.

“What do we do now?” You ask, your voice small.

Max takes your hand, interlacing his fingers with yours. “We face it together. Like we always have.”

As the ship’s stern begins to rise, you and Max make your way towards the railing. The screech of twisting metal fills the air as the Titanic starts to break apart.

“Max,” you say, your voice trembling, “I’m scared.”

He pulls you close, his arms strong around you. “I know. But remember, this isn’t the end. Not really.”

You look up at him, confused. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t you feel it?” He asks. “The familiarity? Like we’ve been here before?”

As you stare into his eyes, flashes of memory assault you. A temple in ancient Greece. A Tudor court. A Renaissance study. Always you and Max. Always torn apart.

“The cycle,” you whisper.

Max nods, a sad smile on his face. “We’ll get it right someday. I promise.”

The ship lurches violently, and you cling to each other as you’re thrown into the icy Atlantic. The shock of the cold water drives the breath from your lungs.

“Max!” You gasp, struggling to keep your head above water.

“I’m here,” he calls back, swimming towards you. “Hold on to me.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, your limbs already growing numb from the cold. Around you, the cries of other passengers pierce the night.

“It’s so cold,” you murmur, your teeth chattering.

Max holds you tighter. “I know, love. Just stay with me.”

As the minutes tick by, the cries around you grow fewer. You can feel your strength ebbing, your grip on Max weakening.

“Hey,” Max says, his voice hoarse. “Stay awake. Look at the stars with me.”

You force your eyes open, gazing up at the crystal-clear sky. “They’re beautiful,” you manage.

“Just like you,” Max replies. “In every life, in every time.”

You smile weakly. “You always were a charmer.”

“And you always saw right through me,” he chuckles, the sound turning into a cough.

As your vision begins to dim, you summon the last of your strength to speak. “Max? Promise you’ll find me again?”

His lips, blue with cold, press against your forehead. “Always. In this life and the next, and all the ones after.”

The cold fades, replaced by a spreading warmth. As consciousness slips away, your last thought is of Max’s eyes, filled with love and the promise of reunion.

The wheel turns. The cycle continues. And somewhere, in another time, another place, two souls prepare to find each other once more.

Washington DC, 1968

The air is thick with tension and the acrid smell of tear gas. You stand at the front of the crowd, your hand tightly gripping a homemade sign that reads “MAKE LOVE, NOT WAR.” The chants of the protesters around you swell and ebb like waves crashing against the shore of the Lincoln Memorial.

“Hey,” a familiar voice calls out. You turn to see Max pushing his way through the crowd, his shaggy hair falling into his eyes. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

You smile, relief washing over you. “I was starting to worry you wouldn’t make it.”

Max reaches you, his hand finding yours. “Wild horses couldn’t keep me away. Though the police barricades nearly did.”

You squeeze his hand. “I’m glad you’re here. This feels ... important. Like we’re on the brink of something.”

He nods, his eyes scanning the growing crowd. “I know what you mean. It’s like the whole world is holding its breath.”

As if on cue, a new chant starts up. “Hey, hey, LBJ! How many kids did you kill today?”

You join in, your voice blending with the thousands around you. Max’s deeper tone resonates beside you, sending a shiver down your spine that has nothing to do with the autumn chill.

Suddenly, there’s a commotion at the edge of the crowd. You stand on tiptoe, trying to see what’s happening.

“What is it?” Max asks, concern etching his features.

“I’m not sure,” you reply. “It looks like ... oh no.”

A line of police officers in riot gear is advancing on the crowd, batons at the ready.

Max’s grip on your hand tightens. “We should fall back. This could get ugly.”

But you stand your ground, shaking your head. “No. We can’t let them intimidate us. We have a right to be here, to make our voices heard.”

“I know,” Max says, his voice tight with worry. “But I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

As the police line gets closer, tensions in the crowd rise. Someone throws a bottle, and it shatters at the feet of an officer. In an instant, chaos erupts.

“Disperse immediately!” A voice booms over a megaphone. “This is an unlawful assembly!”

But the crowd doesn’t disperse. If anything, the chants grow louder, more defiant. You feel Max tugging at your arm.

“Come on,” he urges. “We’ve made our point. Let’s go before-”

His words are cut off by a loud bang. For a moment, you think it’s a firecracker. Then you see the tear gas canister arcing through the air.

“Gas!” Someone shouts, and panic ripples through the crowd.

Max pulls you close, covering your mouth and nose with his bandana. “We need to move, now!”

You nod, coughing as the acrid gas begins to sting your eyes. Together, you push through the panicked crowd, trying to reach the edge of the park.

But the police are closing in from all sides. You see batons swinging, hear the cries of pain and anger from your fellow protesters.

“This way,” Max says, pulling you towards a gap in the police line.

You’re almost there when you hear a scream behind you. Turning, you see a young woman on the ground, an officer standing over her with his baton raised.

Before you can think, you’re moving towards them. “Stop!” You yell. “Leave her alone!”

“Y/N, no!” Max calls after you, but you’re already out of his reach.

You throw yourself between the fallen woman and the officer, your arms outstretched. “Please,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady. “She’s not a threat. We’re peaceful protesters.”

The officer hesitates, his baton still raised. For a moment, you think he might listen. Then you see his eyes harden behind his visor.

“I said disperse!” He shouts, bringing the baton down.

You close your eyes, bracing for the impact. But it never comes. Instead, you hear a grunt of pain and open your eyes to see Max in front of you, taking the blow meant for you.

“Max!” You cry out as he crumples to the ground.

You drop to your knees beside him, cradling his head. “Max, can you hear me?”

He groans, his eyes fluttering open. “Are you okay?” He asks, his voice weak.

You nod, tears streaming down your face. “I’m fine. Why did you do that?”

A ghost of a smile touches his lips. “Couldn’t let you have all the fun, could I?”

Despite everything, you can’t help but laugh. “You idiot,” you say fondly.

The moment is shattered by another round of tear gas canisters landing nearby. The acrid smoke billows around you, making it hard to breathe.

“We need to get out of here,” you say, trying to help Max to his feet.

But as you stand, you feel a sharp pain in your side. Looking down, you see a growing red stain on your shirt.

“Y/N?” Max’s voice sounds far away. “Y/N, what’s wrong?”

You stumble, your legs giving out. Max catches you, lowering you gently to the ground.

“Oh God,” he says, his face pale with shock. “You’ve been hit.”

You look down again, seeing the bullet embedded in your side. The pain is distant, almost unreal.

“It’s not so bad,” you try to reassure him, but your voice comes out weak and shaky.

Max presses his hand to the wound, trying to stem the bleeding. “Help!” He shouts. “We need a medic!”

But his cries are lost in the chaos around you. The world seems to be fading, growing dim at the edges.

“Max,” you whisper, reaching up to touch his face. “I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head fiercely. “Don’t you dare apologize. You’re going to be fine, you hear me? We’re going to get through this.”

You smile sadly, a strange sense of déjà vu washing over you. “We always say that, don’t we?”

Max’s brow furrows in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Every time,” you murmur, your strength fading. “We always think this time will be different.”

Understanding dawns in Max’s eyes, along with a deep, aching sorrow. “The cycle,” he whispers.

You nod weakly. “But it’s okay. We’ll get another chance.”

“No,” Max says, his voice breaking. “Not again. Please, Y/N, stay with me.”

But you can feel yourself slipping away. The pain is gone now, replaced by a spreading warmth.

“Find me again,” you breathe, your eyes starting to close. “Promise me.”

Max’s tears fall on your face as he leans close. “I promise. In this life or the next, I’ll always find you.”

As consciousness fades, your last thought is of Max’s eyes, filled with love and the weight of lifetimes. The wheel turns, the cycle continues, and somewhere, two souls prepare for yet another chance at forever.

Monaco, 2024

The soft morning light filters through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the bedroom. You’re curled up against Max, his arm draped protectively over your waist. The steady rhythm of his breathing is a comforting constant, one you’ve grown accustomed to over the years.

A gentle weight lands on the bed, followed by a soft meow. You open your eyes to see Jimmy padding across the duvet.

“Morning, Jimmy,” you whisper, reaching out to scratch behind his ears. He purrs contentedly, settling down in the small space between you and Max.

The movement stirs Max from his slumber. He blinks sleepily, a smile spreading across his face as he focuses on you. “Good morning, schatje,” he murmurs, his voice still rough with sleep.

You lean in, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “Morning, champ. Sleep well?”

He nods, pulling you closer. “Always do with you by my side.”

As if on cue, another weight lands on the bed. Sassy makes her presence known with a demanding meow.

Max chuckles, reaching over to pet her. “Good morning to you too, princess.”

You can’t help but laugh. “I think someone’s jealous of all the attention Jimmy’s getting.”

“Can’t have that, can we?” Max says, scooping Sassy up and placing her on his chest. She immediately starts kneading, purring loudly.

You watch them with a fond smile, a wave of contentment washing over you. “I love this,” you say softly. “Just ... all of this.”

Max turns his head to look at you, his eyes filled with warmth. “Me too. Sometimes I can hardly believe it’s real, you know?”

You nod, understanding completely. “I know what you mean. It’s like ... we’ve been waiting for this for so long.”

“Lifetimes,” Max agrees, a hint of something ancient in his gaze.

You both fall silent for a moment, lost in memories that feel more like dreams — flashes of other lives, other times, always reaching for each other but never quite able to hold on.

Jimmy stretches, breaking the spell. You laugh as he nearly pushes Sassy off Max’s chest in the process.

“Alright, you two,” Max says, gently moving the cats aside. “I think it’s time for breakfast.”

As if understanding his words, both cats leap off the bed and head for the door, meowing insistently.

You groan, burying your face in Max’s shoulder. “Five more minutes?”

He chuckles, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “You know they won’t let us rest until they’re fed.”

“True,” you sigh, reluctantly sitting up. “I suppose we should get up anyway. Don’t you have that interview today?”

Max nods, running a hand through his tousled hair. “Yeah, in a couple of hours. Nothing too intense though, just a quick chat about the next race.”

You swing your legs over the side of the bed, stretching. “Want me to make coffee while you feed the furry overlords?”

“Sounds perfect,” Max says, getting up and pulling on a t-shirt. He pauses at the door, looking back at you with a soft smile. “Have I told you lately how much I love you?”

You feel a warmth bloom in your chest, the same feeling you get every time he looks at you like that. “You might have mentioned it once or twice,” you tease. “But I never get tired of hearing it.”

Max crosses the room in two quick strides, pulling you into a deep kiss. When he pulls back, you’re both a little breathless.

“I love you,” he says, his forehead resting against yours. “More than I ever thought possible.”

You cup his face in your hands, thumb tracing the line of his jaw. “I love you too, Max. Always have, always will.”

A loud meow from the hallway breaks the moment. You both laugh, the spell broken but the warmth lingering.

“Duty calls,” Max says with a wink, heading out to tend to the cats.

You make your way to the kitchen, starting the coffee maker and pulling out mugs. As the rich aroma fills the air, you can hear Max in the other room, talking to the cats as he fills their bowls.

“There you go, Jimmy. Easy, Sassy, there’s plenty for both of you.”

You smile to yourself, struck once again by how perfect this all feels. It’s not just the quiet moments like this morning — it’s the way Max lights up when he talks about racing, the pride in his eyes when he brings home another trophy. It’s the way he holds you after a particularly rough day, or the sound of his laughter when you’re goofing around together.

Max joins you in the kitchen, wrapping his arms around you from behind as you pour the coffee. “Smells amazing,” he murmurs, nuzzling into your neck.

You lean back into him, savoring the moment. “The coffee or me?”

“Both,” he chuckles, pressing a kiss to your shoulder.

You turn in his arms, handing him his mug. “So, what’s on the agenda after your interview?”

Max takes a sip of coffee, thinking. “Not much, actually. I was thinking maybe we could have a quiet day in? Watch a movie, order takeout?”

“Sounds perfect,” you say, your smile widening. “I’ll even let you pick the movie this time.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Even if it’s another racing documentary?”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Even then. Though I reserve the right to fall asleep on your shoulder if it gets too technical.”

“Deal,” Max grins, pulling you close for another kiss.

As you stand there in the kitchen, coffee in hand and cats weaving between your legs, you’re struck by a profound sense of rightness. This is what you’ve been searching for, life after life. This quiet, domestic bliss with the man you love.

“What are you thinking about?” Max asks, noticing your thoughtful expression.

You smile, leaning into him. “Just ... how happy I am. How perfect this all is.”

Max’s arms tighten around you. “It really is, isn’t it? Sometimes I wonder if I’m dreaming.”

You pinch his arm lightly, laughing at his mock-offended expression. “Definitely not dreaming.”

“Good,” he says, his voice soft and sincere. “Because I never want to wake up from this.”

As you stand there in the morning light, surrounded by the life you’ve built together, you silently thank whatever force has finally allowed you and Max to find your happily ever after.

The wheel has turned, the cycle has ended, and at last, your souls have found their home.

[aashi-heartfilia]

The hypocrisy of Jinshi and MaoMao

*light novel spoilers*

I just love how hypocritical MaoMao's nature is. She yells at Jinshi for being a 'Masochist' and yet we see that she's no different. Now, by definition Masochist is a person who drives sexual gratification from their own pain and humiliation, plus it relates to Jinshi's tendency to do self harm (like burning his skin with a brand)

And what is MaoMao's most favourite thing in this world?

POISON

She literally takes pleasure in consuming it and no one can convince me otherwise. Plus she uses dangerous plants and animals and snakes whatnot in the name of her so-called experiments. Her dad may call her a 'mad Scientist' but that is a direct indication of self harm.

And she calls Jinshi a Masochist.

I mean, think about it! The amount of anxiety she gives to Jinshi! She came prepared with a vomit inducing medicine but even she had no idea whether it would work or not. She was just hoping it would work in the salt chapter.

And the same goes for her hand, on which she has conducted countless experiments. One flower even burned her skin and its marks never left her skin. She said it was all for her hobby. What kind of weird hobby is that? Maybe, our little adorable mad scientist is just like that.

One brands his own skin, while the other takes heavenly pleasure in consuming poison.

So my point is, Jinshi and MaoMao are not that different as one might think they are and that's why their dynamic works so well.

Let's look at the excerpts from volume 5:

She didn’t know how long they sat that way. All she knew was that Jinshi was looking down at her with a faintly triumphant expression, as if he saw that the breath had reached every corner of her body now. He wiped away the tears that had sprung to her eyes as she struggled to breathe. It was then that Maomao felt a flash of intense anger. “I said that if you were going to kill me, you should do it with poison,” she told him. “I refuse to let you poison yourself,” Jinshi said, his fingers tracing her lips. “You can’t pretend you didn’t know that you were one of the candidates. As much as I’m sure you’d like to.” He wasn’t done, either: “Who was that man, anyway? I’m sure you’re not a dancer.” So he had been watching them! “I was just paying for my drink,” Maomao said. “It didn’t cost much.” She tried to look away, but with his hand on her head, she really couldn’t.

Jinshi just choked her and yet he refuses to let MaoMao poison herself. A lot of people misinterpret this scene, and don't like it all that much, saying it was just fanservice stuff but this is how I see it: Jinshi wasn't trying to kill MaoMao, he was just trying to make MaoMao submit to him for once (even if the way he did it was very wrong, but guess he's kinky like that). MaoMao is actively trying to harm herself and Jinshi loves MaoMao a lot, he cannot just let her kill herself.

It was more about him trying to exert his dominance in their weirdish - complicated relationship and that also backfires on him as we see in the next volume that MaoMao escapes Jinshi's grasps using Pairin's techniques.

And then they both continue to avoid each other in the entire next volume! Because they both realised that they have crossed boundaries.

They both are hypocrites.

And they both refuse to accept their feelings.

In one of the later volumes, she gives Jinshi a piece of her mind on how he should tell her everything clearly, unequivocally, what he feels, and he literally declares that "he will make her his wife", which is nice and all but look at the wording MaoMao used here....

Excerpts from LN Vol 7, chapter 19 called "A man and a woman play the game"

"You’re forever telling me I need to use my words, Master Jinshi, but are you in any position to criticize? Everything you say to me, everything you do, it’s like it’s calculated to save you from ever having to actually say what you mean! To make me figure it all out! You know, you remind me of someone. You act exactly like a man who used to come by our brothel all the time. He was in love with one of the girls, but he would never just come out and say it. He thought it should be obvious from the way he acted. He was so sure he had a good thing going with this woman that he never sent her so much as a letter. I remember how forlorn he looked when someone else swooped in and snatched her away! He kept coming to the brothel after that—to get drunk and whine to the ladies. Well, in my opinion, he could have avoided all that heartbreak if he’d told the woman how he felt. Clearly, unequivocally, so that she knew where they stood. It was the least he could have done!”

Everything came out in a torrent. She felt like she’d said it all in one breath. It was strange, she thought, to hear so many words come out of her own mouth. She was mystified. Jinshi was no less startled, but the shock soon left his face, replaced by something else. He got up off the bed and stared down at Maomao.

Shit. Now I’ve done it. She’d given him a piece of her mind, and he was about to give her one back.

“So I should be clear, should I? Unequivocal? I should say what I mean? If I did, would you actually listen to me? Is that what you’re telling me? I’m going to hold you to that! Right this minute. I’ll say it all. Don’t plug your ears—listen to me!” He grabbed her hands as she was in the process of trying to put her fingers in her ears. He took a breath. He was looking at Maomao, but somehow he seemed almost embarrassed. Finally he managed, “Now listen to me, y—I mean, Maomao! Listen close! I am going to make you my wife!”

It's one heck of a chapter and I suggest you give it a go! The title of the chapter says "A man and a woman play the game" as if to emphasize the very fact that both Jinshi and MaoMao are playing the game.

Jinshi has never confessed his true feelings before this chapter and only implied that he wanted to make MaoMao his wife.

The implications were heavy though on Jinshi's part, and as smart as MaoMao is, anyone would have guessed that MaoMao was one of the candidates for Jinshi's consort. Even the clothes she received (the ones she wore to the banquet) were also provided by Jinshi along with the hairpin. It is never stated outright but seeing as the hairpin was from Jinshi, the clothes are also implied to be the same.

More or less she's always deliberately ignoring the possibility of having anything to do with him, that is more than professional. Some may call it denial, I call it dense. Maybe, to some extent, she herself is not aware of her feelings because she never lets herself feel anything.

Even Suiren pointed it out pretty early in the manga, that maybe it's MaoMao's way of being reserved. We need to keep in mind that MaoMao is an unreliable narrator and it's more of what she does, rather than what she says that makes a difference.

Even in the chapter that I have quoted above, she had every reason to leave Jinshi, she wasn't working for him after all. But she stayed to make tea for him, even after the fact that she had a long day too. She was almost just as exhausted as Jinshi and yet she was there preparing medicinal tea, so that he could get a better sleep.

Maybe she herself is yet to realise just how deep her feelings run. Till vol 12 she seems to have accepted them, but she still is yet to acknowledge their depth. Maybe it's because of her childhood.

It's not a traumatic backstory but MaoMao had a sad childhood nonetheless....

She was raised by her grand uncle and her real father was eccentric, who scared her. Her mother must also appear to be kind of demonic to her, since she was desperate enough to cut MaoMao's Pinky finger and send it to Lahan. So it's safe to say that MaoMao never received proper parental affection. And adding to the fact that, a brothel is not exactly an ideal place for raising a child.... especially when the birth of MaoMao was the one thing that brought the brothel to its knees...even if being born wasn't her choice.

Plus MaoMao stated it herself that when she was a baby, no one would come to sooth her until their work was finished, implying that even if MaoMao and her brothel sisters are close, they are not that close. A mother's love is different and she never received it. No one can love you more than your mother and MaoMao was deprived of that. She soon realised that no one was coming. Life is hard and she has no choice but to face it!

So, she got interested in poison.

Maybe she doesn't love herself or her life as much as she says / pretends she does. She's always like "yeah, I would very much like my head to be with my body" and "if I stay low profile maybe I can survive here" etc but maybe deep down that's not the case. Maybe that's why she loves poison so much. The implications are crazy.

And to break MaoMao's shell, Jinshi has no choice but to be a bit more forceful at times? At least that's how I interpret that choking scene. Jinshi was angry at MaoMao because she deliberately suggested him to marry consort Rishu and danced with Rikuson.

Even if Jinshi never said it outright, he was giving hints the entire time.

But well the tables turned and MaoMao topped him instead, lol (vol 7) and later we even see that our little stray cat has accepted Jinshi and she's ready to be in a relationship with him (vol 12).

Plus she is intrigued by the process of birth (she wants to eat her baby's placenta, it's kind of uggghhh.... but anyways, that MaoMao we're talking about, she's just weird that way)

Maybe not after too long she'll realise that if she has to give birth, she can only have it with Jinshi and no one else.

~Sunshine

[the-case-book-of-fanfiction]

Burns Like Rum

Ship: Astarion x female!human!reader/Tav

Summary: Astarion's hunger worsens every day and you don't have any blood to spare—but that doesn't stop you from inadvertently tempting him at every turn. Luckily for both of you, you've both got the same idea to cure him of his hunger.

Word Count: 7,840 words

Warnings: sexual content (18+), menstruating reader, hungry Astarion, mutual pining, possibly OOC dialogue, vampire feeding, soft Astarion, no particular timeline but Astarion hasn't told you anything yet

18+ Warnings: period sex, fingering, oral (f receiving), hand job, bite kink, blood kink, aftercare, use of the words cunt & cock

Note: For my usual readers, more Stranger Things content is coming, I promise! But this bitey boy currently owns my heart so I'm gonna show him some love :)

☟ Continue below the fold ☟

Astarion was hungry, and it was entirely your fault, for more than one reason.

The first was that, almost a month ago now, you had let Astarion drink from you. He'd been starving, and it didn't help that the others had given him strict rules about feeding, so when he flashed those sad but gorgeous red eyes at you, complaining of hunger, you'd all but gifted him your neck.

He'd practically drained you that night. You had been weak for days. Of course, the others, namely Gale and Lae'zel, were furious with you for letting him drink from you, but the sated, content look on his face after feeding made it all worth it to you. He'd become more comfortable around you after that, too, and you'd considered that an improvement.

It hadn't been all that bad, really, for him to sink his teeth into you and drink until your grip on him had grown so weak that he'd let up to check on you. In fact, it had been...rather pleasant. He'd been gentle, careful, his bite sharp but considerate. You knew then that you'd risk becoming anemic for a week just to feel the pleasure of his hand cradling your neck and head, his mouth against your neck, his tongue soothing the bite he'd left when he'd had his fill.

But in the weeks that followed, his hunger gradually returned, and with a vengeance. It was as if he'd never fed from you at all, suffering hunger pangs he hid from the others—but you noticed, recognizing them from the night he'd begged you to let him drink from you.

You'd offered him more of your blood since then, but he'd refused you every time. He could smell your guilt, your need to make him feel better simply because you felt responsible for his current pain.

"I won't accept blood from someone who feels obligated to give it to me," he'd said, and his tone made it difficult to tell if he was being snide or kind.

Sometimes, you simply didn't understand that man.

And then three days ago, you'd been injured in a fight. It was nothing fatal, the gash in your midsection missing any major muscles and not deep enough to jeopardize your organs, but it was bloody. You'd limped your way back to camp, your head swimming, the world around you growing darker around the edges with every step.

You'd fainted in Astarion's arms—although collapsed was a better word for it, according to Karlach—drenched in blood, some of which was yours and some of which that wasn't.

"You should have seen his face!" Karlach had laughed when you'd woken up the next morning, woozy but fine thanks to Shadowheart. The blood loss kept you off your feet for the day to recover, and Karlach had taken the time to visit you.

"What do you mean?" you asked, although you already had a good idea what might have happened after you passed out.

"You put him in a right pickle, collapsing on him like that, all covered in blood and losing more of it quickly," she said. "He didn't know what to do with you. It was— It was like he didn't want to drop you, but he really did want to drop you, because all he wanted to do was drink from you. Can't say as I blame him—he's not fed in weeks and you turn up with his next meal draining out of you." You hid your face in your hands with a groan. "Why'd you beeline for him anyway? Shadowheart's tent was just a few paces away!"

You glared at her through your fingers. "You know why I went to him, Karlach!" She, of all people, would understand. She had been the first person to find out that, as much as you flirted with them all, Astarion was the one you wanted.

"Well, obviously," she said, "but it didn't occur to you that he might...have an adverse reaction?"

Rolling your eyes, you snarked, "No, Karlach, it didn't, I was bleeding out and suffering from head trauma. I just...saw someone I trusted to keep me safe and ran to him."

She cocked her head to the side. "That's sweet, but stupid."

You snorted. "Yeah, I know—Shadowheart won't stop yelling at me for it."

You hadn't seen Astarion until that night, when the group of you had gathered at the campfire. It hadn't meant to be like that; you'd seen him and had wanted to talk to him, at least apologize for throwing your bloody body at him, but Shadowheart followed you closely to keep you safe and soon the others had gathered.

It had been like a very strange family dinner, made awkward by everyone dancing around exactly why you'd gone to Astarion, knowing a hungry vampire and fresh blood were not a good mix.

The final reason you were making his hunger unbearable made itself known at the end of the night, when it was just you, Astarion, and Shadowheart at the dying fire.

She must have caught sight of the way you kept looking at Astarion out of the corner of your eye, embarrassedly looking away or pretending to gaze into the trees behind him every time he caught you looking. She tapped your shoulder and told you she needed to get rest. The "you should, too" was implied, hanging in the air along with her worry about your healing.

"I'm fine, Shadowheart, really," you insisted. "I won't rip myself open again, I promise."

"I'll keep an eye on her," Astarion promised. "Nothing too...strenuous for her just yet." Something in his voice made you shiver.

She left the two of you alone. You looked first at the fire, then down at your hands, folded in your lap. Anywhere than at him.

You didn't even hear him move. You only knew he had when you felt him sit on the log beside you, one of his hands covering your own.

"Are you alright?" he asked, his voice soft. "I...am sorry I didn't visit you, it's just—"

"It's just that I threw myself at you when it looked like I'd taken a shower in blood and that made things a wee bit difficult?" you interrupted, the words spilling out before you had time to process that you were speaking. Embarrassed heat flushed through you instantly.

But Astarion only gave you that soft, slightly toothy smile. You drank it in, relishing his smile lines and the brief contentment on his face. "Something like that, yes," he said. "I was...worried I might hurt you if I saw you again and you still smelled so deliciously of your blood. I'm so hungry, darling, it's unbearable. All I wanted was to feast until there was nothing left of you, and I'd never forgive myself if I—"

"Stop." You held up your hand. "Please. I don't... Don't be so nice to me, it makes me feel like I'm on my deathbed."

Astarion laughed, throwing his head back. "I'd hardly call wanting to drain you nice, my love." Almost unconsciously, your gaze dipped to his exposed neck and you wondered idly what he would do if you were to bite him back.

Probably the strenuous activity Astarion had promised Shadowheart you wouldn't be doing.

He met your gaze, a sudden depth and seriousness in his crimson stare. "Stick with me, and you might soon be on your deathbed." Pointedly, he broke eye contact with you, letting his eyes drop first to your neck and then further down your body. You tingled, the feeling reminiscent of the anemia that had possessed your body in the hours and days after he'd drank from you.

You realized Astarion was waiting for a reaction from you, hoping for something more than your stunned silence. So you let your eyes drift across his body, resting on his mouth as you said, "Doesn't sound like a bad way to go out."

From the back of his throat came a sound that wasn't quite a growl or a groan, but somewhere in between, just as needy as either sound. "Don't tempt me, darling," he whispered. "I promised Shadowheart I'd keep you safe, and you certainly wouldn't be if I did everything I want."

Your heart skipped a beat. "Astarion..."

He closed his eyes, leaning toward you, releasing a tense breath. "Darling..."

"What if I want to tempt you?" You put your hand on his leg, sliding closer to him.

"Cheeky thing," he said, eyes opening in small slits. "But only when you're healed. I can still smell the blood on you." He sighed. "You have no idea how much restraint it takes not sink my teeth into that pretty neck of yours."

You frowned. "But I am healed," you said. "Just tender. Shadowheart wouldn't have let me leave her tent otherwise."

"I can't blame you for wanting me," Astarion teased, that familiar charm honeying his words, "but I've never been wrong." He cupped your cheek, his touch taking the bite out of his words. He offered you a small, sympathetic smile.

You put your hand to your abdomen, half-expecting to find that your wound had ripped open of its own accord. Your shirt and the bandage beneath it was dry—but a sudden twinge of pain, appearing only once it had been acknowledged, came from lower. You hissed.

Astarion sat up straighter. "What is it? Are you alright?"

"Shit. I think I've figured out why you still smell blood," you said through clenched teeth.

Astarion's eyes dipped to where your hand rested. "It's that time again already, is it?"

"It's early," you groaned. You stood slowly, regretting it instantly.

He tracked you as you moved, his gaze becoming dangerous and predatory. It was the look that had scared you when he drank from you, practically convincing you he wasn't going to stop. Still, his need for you burned through you like rum, its heat spreading through your belly.

"I didn't smell it before, not under all the blood you had on you," he said. His voice was deep, dark, dangerous. "But, oh, darling—I smell it now." He licked his lips and your stomach did flips that were neither pleasant or unpleasant. The hunger in his eyes was palpable

"I, ah, have to go. For your sake and mine. Um. So, uh, goodnight, Astarion. I...I'll see you when this is all over."

He stood up quickly. "Darling, do you need—" He cut himself off as you waved away his concern, crossing the camp to your own tent.

"No! Goodnight!" you called over your shoulder.

Astarion sighed. "...Night."

~❊~

You avoided Astarion like the plague. Well, perhaps not, because while you never wanted to see the disease, you were always on the lookout for your favorite vampire.

You caught glimpses of him through the open flaps of your tent, sauntering by with a swagger you found unfairly attractive. You saw him reading on his own when Shadowheart helped you changed your bandages, his handsome face fixed in concentration. A few hours later, you heard him arguing with Gale about the very same book, which had apparently gone missing, and you hated the flutter in your stomach at the growl in his angry voice.

"Stop that," Karlach said, glancing up at you as the pair of you cooked, Karlach helping you roast root vegetables evenly.

"Stop what?"

"Mooning over him," she said, jerking her head in Astarion's direction.

Your body flushed with heat. "I'm not—"

"You are, and we can all tell, and you should just get it over with, but only if you mean it."

You frowned, tearing your eyes away from the blessed sight that was Astarion basking in the sun. "Sorry, what?"

Karlach sighed. "If you sleep with him—" You spluttered. "—it had better be because you truly want him and not because you're bleeding."

You blinked at her. "Karlach, of course I want him, you've heard me talk about him before this!"

"I know, I know," she relented, "but I have a feeling there's more to our vampire than meets the eye." She glanced over at Astarion. "Just...be kind to him, dear. He's more fragile than he looks."

You followed her gaze over to him. He was stretching, his arms lifted high above his head, undoubtedly oblivious to the two of you watching him. Want and need bubbled up inside of you, both clamoring for Astarion, agreeing that he would fulfill them both. The deep-seated lust you'd had for him since he'd first put a knife to your neck burned even brighter as the breeze that had been kicking up dust all morning played with the silver hair curling around his ears.

His nostrils flared and you knew he'd smelled you. He looked over at you and Karlach and you froze. She waved cheerily, then frowned at you when you didn't move. You swallowed harshly and went back to removing the scales from the fish in your lap.

"He doesn't like not being around you either, you know," Karlach said, returning to the task at hand. "He's always looking at you when you're not looking. You're perfect for each other like that."

"I don't want to make this harder for him by being around him," you said, glancing back over at him. He was watching you as he poured himself a glass of wine. Had it been normal circumstances, when you weren't driving him insane simply by smelling like blood, you would have teased him for day-drinking. "He's already so hungry, I'd only make that worse. It was bad enough I threw myself at him covered in his favorite snack!"

Karlach snorted. The sound of a light laugh floated over to you and you looked up to find Astarion smirking into his goblet. He beckoned you over and your eyes grew wide.

"Excuse me for a moment, Karlach," you said, clearing your throat.

Karlach followed your gaze and giggled. "More than a moment, dear. I'll come back later to help you finish this." She left the log you'd been sharing and you waited until she was in her own tent again before you jumped to your feet and practically ran to Astarion.

"Hello, darling," he purred. "Care for a drink?"

"I could go for a little," you said.

Astarion smiled, that rakish charm summoning warmth that spread through your entire body. "I hope you like red," he said, and put his own goblet to your lips.

You held his gaze as you drank. You saw his nostrils flare, his pupils growing large. You knew he could hear how your heart was racing, could smell your arousal mixing with your blood.

He pulled the goblet away from your lips and took another swig. You licked the red wine off your lower lip and heard the breath catch in his chest.

"You're starving, aren't you?"

"You have no idea," he whispered.

"I might," you said. "Thought I'd say it's a hunger of a different kind."

Astarion's smirk was so wide you could see his fangs clearly. "Oh, really, darling?"

You nodded, taking a step closer to him. He breathed in deeply. "We could help each other, you know. Satiate our hungers."

His eyes grew dark, trained on yours. "Is that so?" He raised his hand, nearly brushing your cheek, but stopped himself just before he touched you. "You'd let me soothe your pain by..." His gaze dropped to your waistline. "...eating from you?"

A tremor passed through you at the sound of his voice, deeper than you'd ever heard it, laced with a danger and a seduction you were embarrassed to find attractive. Your body was tuned to it, his words seeming to drop like a stone from your ears to your core, spreading fire through your veins and melting your organs.

Astarion took a small step closer to you and took your chin in three gentle fingers, tilting your head up toward him. For a moment, you thought he might kiss you then and there. "I'm going to need an answer, darling."

"Yes." You couldn't get the word out fast enough. It came out breathy, nearly lost on the wind still swirling between you.

He chuckled. "Well, then. You asked for it." He dropped the hand on your chin back to his side. "Once everyone else is asleep, come find me. We'll find a quiet place and...have a little fun."

~❊~

Of all the nights, it had to be this one where everyone came to check on you before they went to sleep. Thanks to Astarion avoiding you like the plague when the two of you had become inseparable, your monthly bleed had become public knowledge. So practically everyone in camp came to you with solutions you declined, claiming to feel fine, even though your pain had worsened over the course of the day.

You watched Astarion slink off into the forest after the sun had gone down and waited until the others were sequestered in their tents, nearly an hour later, to pull your boots back on, stand on shaky feet, and follow the path you assumed he'd taken.

You had started to believe you'd taken a wrong turn somewhere when you heard his cool voice from behind you: "There you are. I've been waiting."

Astarion stepped out of the shadows. He ran his gaze over you, observing your slightly hunched stance, your hand on your lower abdomen. Your shoulders relaxed at the sight of him; he looked softer in the moonlight. The silver light fell across his curls and the statuesque panes of his face, somehow making that face that was so gaunt with hunger unbelievably beautiful.

He looked like a poet or a god, even in just the simple shirt he insisted on wearing around camp instead of the finer silks you knew he carried with him. Or perhaps it was the simplicity that made him so godly. You couldn't tell.

A frown graced his brow. "The pain is worse now, isn't it?"

You nodded. "Just a bit."

Astarion left the small hill he stood on and came closer to you. He offered you his hand. "Come on, dear, let me make you feel better."

You let him guide you away from the path you had taken and into a small clearing just a few feet away, conveniently hidden by thickets, trees, and tall grass. He stood aside, letting you take it in for a moment, as if waiting for your approval of the place. You looked down at the mossy ground and decided it would be soft enough.

"Well, this is nice," you said, seconds before you heard fabric rustling. You turned and blinked rapidly at what you saw: Astarion, his shirt now off and in his hands. You watched him lay it down where the ground was most level. Your breath caught horribly in your throat at the sight of the scar covering his back. You fought back the urge to ask, knowing it would only piss him off.

He turned back to you with a smile. "Your bed for the evening, my love," he said, gesturing to it.

"Oh, Astarion, I can't, I don't want to get blood on your shirt. What would the others—"

Astarion cupped your face in one hand. "The others will assume I hunted something and got messy," he said. "And I'll enjoy your scent while I have it."

Flutters in your stomach nearly brought you to your knees. You looked up at him, drawing in a tiny breath, and brought your hand up to hold the wrist that cradled your cheek.

"Please," you whispered, unsure of exactly what you were begging for but knowing what you wanted.

"Promise me you'll tell me if...I'm too much," Astarion said, and you got the sense he'd changed what he was going to say.

You nodded, whispering your promise, and wound your free hand into the hair at the nape of his neck, standing on your tiptoes to push your lips to his.

It was a messy first kiss. It was little more than teeth and spit, but it felt like heaven anyway, because his free arm was winding around your waist and pressing your bodies together, his leg sliding between yours. Bliss spread through you, starting at your core.

Astarion pulled away from you. "Someone's eager, isn't she?"

You whimpered and he stifled it with another kiss, softer than the first. He was gentle, more than you'd expected from a starving man. He cupped the back of your head and your hand dropped to his hip. You opened your mouth to him and reveled in the feeling of his tongue sliding against yours. He made a soft sound of satisfaction and pushed his leg up against your clothed core. You moaned loudly, your grip on him tightening. Need flooded you and your hips pushed down on his leg, finding relief in the pressure.

The two of you pressed your foreheads together, breathing heavily.

"Shh, darling, not too loud. You don't want the others to come investigate, do you?" His cheeky tone suggested he would love it if the others found the two of you like this—or, perhaps, further along.

You wrapped both arms around his neck and buried your head into his shoulder, heat burning through you, a mix of embarrassment and pleasure. You felt like there was a pendulum inside you, swinging constantly between wanting to slow down, afraid of coming off as too eager, and desperately needing him to get to it.

Astarion chuckled. "Don't hide, love." He smoothed his hand over your hair. "You do trust me, don't you?"

You kissed his shoulder and heard his breath catch. "With my life, Astarion."

"Are you ready?"

You nodded and he walked you over to his shirt and helped you to sit on it. He watched you lay down, his gaze falling your exposed neck. There was something more than hunger in his eyes; it made your breathing hitch.

Astarion crawled over you and placed his hand underneath your head before he kissed you. You draped your arm over his shoulders, holding him close to you, enjoying the soft touch of his lips against yours. It was chaste, as were the next few that followed it in quick succession, one after the other.

One hand slid down your body and stopped at the hem of your trousers. He tugged at the shirt tucked into them. "Darling? May I?"

"Please do," you said.

"Arms up."

He pulled the fabric over your head and tossed it to the side. He looked down at your torso from where he straddled your hips. His hands skimmed over you and he leaned down, pressing more gentle kisses to your neck and collarbones. Your body tingled with remembrance, practically yearning to feel his fangs sink into your neck, to feel your blood leave you with a burning that felt like intoxication.

"Astarion." His name was a breathy cry on your lips, and you saw how much he liked the sound of it when he looked up at you, a smile curving onto the lips still pressed to your skin.

"Yes, dear?"

You gently coaxed him back up to you with your hand on his chin. "Let me kiss you."

He smiled, brighter than the moonlight falling around you, and you pressed your mouth to his. He hummed happily into your mouth, a pleasant sensation that made you reluctant to break the kiss. But you did, kissing along his jaw and down his neck instead. You nipped gently at his neck, pulling a surprised laugh from him.

"Really, darling? Biting the vampire?" Astarion's eyes were sparkling with amusement. His face had relaxed into an easy smile. It was a good look on him; you liked it.

You giggled and placed another kiss over the bite. The pair of you rolled onto your sides and you peppered his chest with kisses, your arm wrapped loosely around his waist. You went back up to his neck and sucked lightly.

"So much for the others not knowing," he teased.

You looked at him through your lashes. "What if I want them to know?"

"Cheeky little thing," he whispered, dragging a finger down the side of your face. "As much as I love this—and believe me, I do love this—I can't wait any longer. I'm starving, darling. Let me taste you. Please."

Slightly subdued, you rolled onto your back. "Alright," you whispered, your chest tightening in anticipation.

Astarion climbed on top of you again. He undid the laces at the front of your trousers and slipped his hand inside them, moving slowly and keeping his eyes locked on yours.

The moment two of his fingers slid between your wet folds, your eyes fluttered shut and a happy sigh slipped from your lips.

"There she is," he whispered, his eyes half-lidded, as he worked you gently and slowly. You felt the blood and arousal gather on his fingers as he grew closer to your entrance. He dragged them back up to your clit and rubbed in a slow circle. You gasped, arching into his touch. Astarion giggled. "Oh, you like that, don't you?"

You wriggled underneath him, trying everything in your power to get more of his touch. He smiled down at you, kissing your cheek and cooing softly at you. If he spoke words, you didn't hear them, too lost in the pleasure he easily, skillfully, brought to you.

Without warning, Astarion plunged both fingers into your entrance. You moaned, grabbing at his hair. He chuckled, curling his fingers inside you. Whimpers slipped past your lips; you couldn't have controlled them if you tried, but you were by no means trying. His smile grew with every sound you made, and you wanted nothing more than to see that smile.

Just as suddenly as he'd pushed his fingers in, he pulled them out. You whined instantly but he shushed you and removed his hand from your pants. A small streak of blood was left on the skin of your stomach as he raised his hand to his mouth. You watched raptly as he licked your blood from his fingers, never once breaking eye contact with you.

He wasn't even touching you and the fire in your belly grew at the sight.

Astarion moaned softly around his fingers. You watched his deft tongue catch every drop of blood, thinned by your arousal, from his hand. He whispered your name in a whine and you let go of a long breath.

Once he'd licked his fingers clean, he bent down and yanked your trousers off your legs. You spread them automatically and he put one leg between them. He pulled off your undergarments and sat back, admiring your naked body with a satisfied smirk.

"Look at you," he whispered.

The need for him to touch you won out over the desire for him to keep staring at you. "Astarion." His name was a loud whine, emphasized by your writhing hips.

He chucked. "Needy girl." His hand returned to your cunt, his palm applying pressure to your clit while his fingers toyed with your bloody folds. His eyes practically rolled into the back of his head, the smell of blood so heady even you could smell it.

He teased your entrance for a moment and pulled his fingers back up, the tips of them coated in thick blood that looked black in the night. He sucked it from his fingers with a toothy smile, his fangs peeking out over his bottom lip.

You pushed your hips up enough to catch his eye. "Please," you whimpered.

"Alright, love, alright," he said. He put his hand back and slipped his fingers back inside you. Relief curled through you—as did his fingers. "I'll starve myself a bit longer for your pleasure."

You cupped his neck and brought his face to yours and kissed him fiercely. He made a surprised but pleased sound into your mouth and quickened his pace. You gasped against his lips and he ducked his head to your neck, kissing you quickly with every curl of his fingers.

You twisted your fingers through his hair, rapidly kissing the top of his head, pushing your hips up into his hand. He chuckled, his breath ghosting over your skin and raising goosebumps. You shuddered in his arms.

"I've got you," he murmured, sucking a light mark into your neck. You felt his teeth prick you and saw the shudder that passed through his body at the tiny droplets of blood that appeared.

He pulled away from your neck and curled his fingers just so. You groaned.

"Astarion!" you cried, throwing your head back.

He grinned and quickened his pace. You sucked in a deep breath, fighting back tears of pleasure.

"Let go, darling," he whispered. "I've got you."

Astarion looked back down at your neck. He locked eyes with you as he pressed his tongue to your skin, slowly licking up the droplets as they began to run down your neck. The combination of his intense stare and the movement of his fingers was all you needed; with a loud cry, you came on his fingers, your walls clenching so hard around him he could hardly keep moving them.

He chuckled. "That's it, dear, that's it." He cooed softly, helping you through it with his voice, his soft touch, and gentle kisses to your lips.

You were breathing hard when he finally pulled his fingers out of you. You whimpered at the slight pain but realized your cramps had all but disappeared.

Judging by the state of his hand, you didn't want to know how bloody his shirt was. It looked as though he'd reached into someone's chest and ripped their heart out; his hand was drenched and rivulets of blood ran all the way down to his elbow.

Astarion giggled at the sight while you burned with embarrassment. "Well, well, well. Someone's happy, isn't she?"

"So are you," you said, nodding to the bulge in his pants.

He grinned. "Well, what did you expect? You were quite vocal, my needy little thing." His eyes drifted back down to your cunt, lust curling through his gaze. "Tight and wet and utterly desperate for me."

He licked a stripe up his hand, his eyes fluttering shut. "Oh, darling, you taste good." He sucked your blood off of every finger, pleasure sliding over his face.

You smiled. "There's more where that came from."

Astarion raised one perfect brow. "Can you handle another little death?" he teased.

You nodded. "I can take a few more."

He chuckled and groaned at the same time. "Oh, my love, don't make promises you can't keep."

You met his gaze as he finished cleaning off his hand. "Believe me, I can keep it."

The vampire grinned. "Very well, then. I'll eat good tonight."

He kissed you chastely as he put his hand between your legs again.

Astarion brought you pleasure unlike anything you'd ever felt before as his fingers slid over your blood-slick skin, teasing your folds and entrance with a smirk, often just barely inserting the tip of his finger before pulling it out again and tracing over your clit and smearing blood across your skin. He kissed and sucked on your breasts, leaving darkening bruises and tiny scratches from his teeth, licking up the tiny beads of blood that sprung from each nick. He kissed along the line of scarring and stitches you had gotten from your injury, fading fast but still a reminder of what had gotten you on your back for him in the first place. Now that he'd eaten a little, he was intently focused on bringing you to the edge and pulling you back, again and again and again.

He worked another orgasm out of you and was on his way to coaxing out the third when you stopped him.

"Is it too much?" he asked, frowning. His unbloodied hand moved to rest on your hip, his thumb smoothing over your skin. His eyes searched your face, looking for anything to tell him why you'd stopped him.

You shook your head. "I need more, Astarion," you gasped, slurring his name into Astari. The unintended nickname made him blush. "I need more of you. Please. Please."

The smile returned to his face, cockier than before. "Oh, darling. I need more of you, too," he said, looking into your cunt and licking his lips. "I could just eat you up."

You spread your legs wider. He settled between them. "Please do."

He breathed in deep and his eyes practically rolled back into his head. "You're going to be the death of me— Ah. Well, you would be, if I was alive."

You frowned. "Would this even be happening if you were alive?"

Astarion thought for a moment. "Let's not think about the logistics," he decided and licked the drying blood from his fingers off your abdomen. Your body trembled. He lifted your legs over his shoulders. You squeaked and smiled at him.

"Lay back," he whispered. You obliged him.

Wet warmth touched your skin just above your clit and you glanced down at him, watching him slowly lick the drying blood from your skin. He kissed your skin as he cleaned it, leaving you covered in slowly darkening bruises.

You stared at the stars as he pressed a soft first kiss to your clit. You let out a slow breath and he began to suck, his lips closing around it, his tongue licking light stripes.

You pushed your hips against his mouth. "Circles," you whispered.

"As you wish," he said, his breath fanning over your cunt and making you tremble. He went back to his feast, licking in circles this time, and you let out a soft whimper. You reached down and he reached up, lacing your fingers together and squeezing your hand. You squeezed back.

He moved further down until his nose bumped your clit and his lips found your entrance. He moaned, the sound deep and guttural, at the taste of your blood. He lapped at your entrance, his tongue sweeping up the blood as soon as it collected there. You shuddered, your breaths coming in heaves.

Astarion kissed your entrance once before he dove in, pushing his tongue into your cunt. You gasped and he laughed and buried his face in you.

Through the pleasure, you wondered dimly how he was breathing (did he, as a vampire, need to breathe?), but the thought was pushed away the moment his splayed fingers on your hip dug into your flesh and pulled you even closer to his mouth.

The sounds you were making were obscene: your moans were loud and coarse, and your cunt squelched lewdly as he drank your blood and arousal. You felt filthy, aware that the mix was running down your legs and buttocks but knowing the vampire eating you out was enjoying you too much to care.

Astarion himself was quite vocal, moaning into you and making you shiver. He whimpered, whined, groaned, and keened, growing louder with every swallow of blood. He alternated between watching you writhe and squeezing his eyes shut in pleasure.

You watched his hand slide from your hip to his bulge. He palmed himself through his trousers, hissing in pleasure, and the sight was enough to send you over the edge for a third time.

But Astarion didn't let up. He lapped at you, sucking so harshly your pleasure bordered pain, until your legs stopped shaking and your breathing evened out.

He lifted his head with a grin. "How do I look?"

You looked at him and started laughing. He was the smiliest you had ever seen him, his eyes practically glowing, and the lower half of his face was covered in your blood. His teeth were stained red and sticky blood dripped slowly from his fangs. It ran down his chin in rivulets and splatters dotted his lower cheeks like freckles. Some of it was even in his hair.

"You're ridiculous," you giggled. "And a messy eater."

He snorted. "Excuse you!"

"It's all over your face!"

He sat up with a grin, licking his lips. "You mean you are all over my face."

Satisfaction curled through you. "Yes," you said, reaching for him. He took your hand again. "Yes I am."

He wiped his face with his hand and licked it clean once again. You reached up and wiped some off on your thumb, then held it out to him. He took your thumb into his mouth and sucked. Your heart stopped beating.

"Feeling better?" he asked you, lightly placing his palm over your abdomen, applying a little pressure, and rubbing gentle circles.

"Much better," you said. "Thank you. But, ah..." Your gaze drifted from his beautiful, if slightly pink, face and down to his bulge. It was just as, if not more, prominent now that he'd gone down on you. "What about you?"

Astarion smirked. "I like your enthusiasm, but don't worry about me. Not tonight, darling."

You frowned. "Why not? What if I want you inside of me?" You walked two fingers up his leg and slowly covered his crotch with your palm. When he didn't protest and his eyes fluttered shut, you gave him a gentle squeeze. He let out a soft moan through closed lips and tilted his head back. You kissed the column of his neck and bit down gently. You sucked—hard—and a rumbling moan came from his chest.

"Because," he said finally, drawing in a ragged breath. "Because that would be a terrible waste of your precious blood." He looked at you with half-lidded eyes. "When this is over, I promise you, you can have as much of me as you want." He pushed his hips into your hand and you gave him another gentle squeeze. He gasped.

You nuzzled into him and his arm wrapped around your shoulders, holding you there. "And what if I want all of you?"

The question hung in the air. He looked at you for a long time and suddenly you saw the fragility Karlach had mentioned this afternoon, which felt like years ago instead of mere hours. You reached up to cup his cheek and, though you were stark naked, the sexual desire in the air seemed to have disappeared.

"I want all of you, Astari," you whispered. The nickname made his eyes grow wide. "All of you, in every way, for as long as possible. If you'll let me. If you want me, too."

He whimpered, and the sound was broken. You hated hearing that pain coming from him. "I want you, I do, I just..." He closed his eyes and you were suddenly very sure there was a darkness, a secret, he was trying to hide from you. You were certain it had to do with his vampiric master he'd so often complained about. "I'll try, my darling, I'll try for you."

You sat up on your knees and cupped his face in both hands and kissed him. You didn't break the kiss once as you pressed your body against his and held him tightly. You felt the scar on his back and wanted to ask but didn't, letting him keep his secrets for now.

His arms came around you, cradling your back and holding you tight to him. The kiss became a long-lasting hug, the both of you burying your heads in each other's shoulders until Astarion pulled away from you, a smile on his face. You returned that smile and sat back on your heels.

His eyes trailed over your body again. There was a note of nervousness in his voice as he asked, "Darling, would you mind...touching me again? I could use some relief."

You grinned. "Of course, my love. All you had to do was ask."

Relief crossed his face. He leaned back as you trailed your hand from his shoulder, down his chest, and back to his bulge. You tipped his head back with your free hand and kissed his neck while you rubbed him. He pushed his hips into your hand, sighing blissfully, and your hand was in his trousers in seconds. He grew loud, thrusting his cock into your hand with a power that surprised you.

"Take what you need," you told him, your voice hushed, your lips directly next to his ear. "Help me give you what you want."

He whimpered, your name a broken cry from his lips, and he cuddled into you as he came. He buried his head into your neck, hiding his eyes and barely holding back grunts. As his thrusts grew weaker and you slowed your hand on him, you felt hot tears on your neck and wondered what this poor man had been through that he hadn't yet told you.

You removed your hand from his pants and he immediately wrapped you in another hug, one strong enough to knock you down and knock the breath of you. You held him as tightly as he held you.

When Astarion at last pulled away from you, his tears had stopped but his eyes still shone with them. He kissed you softly.

"Thank you," he whispered. "I... Thank you."

You brushed some of his hair from his face. "What's wrong?"

He shook his head. "Nothing. You were... It's just that no one has cared about me during sex in a very long time and...you did. So...thank you."

You took his hand and squeezed it. "Oh, Astarion," you cooed. "I always care about you. Like this or otherwise. You could stop this right now—or before it even began—and I wouldn't have stopped caring about you."

He smiled. "Oh, darling. I love the sentiment, but I'm not done with you yet."

Astarion kissed down your body and laid between your legs again. He licked another stripe up your cunt and you saw the coating of blood on his tongue before he swallowed. "Shall we try for a fourth? Or perhaps even a fifth?" He raised his brow, leaving the decision up to you.

You laid back. "We'll try for as many as you'd like," you said.

He bared his teeth in a feral grin. "All night it is!"

~❊~

You woke up the next morning sore and alone and with very little sleep.

Astarion had been relentless and stopped only when you simply couldn't take it anymore and he was practically drunk on your blood—all without making you bloodless and woozy. When you had finished for the final time, he had cleaned you up, helped you back into your clothes, picked up his own shirt, and walked you back to camp. He was so gentle that you didn't even mind the teasing about how you limped.

Dawn hadn't been far off as you each went back to your tents after exchanging a final, solid kiss. So you woke to the sound of everyone else beginning their day just a few hours later.

You felt the soreness in your core before you even moved. Biting back a sigh and not regretting it one bit as you pictured Astarion's happy, bloody face, you rolled over and hoped your recent injury would be enough for the others to let you sleep in.

You were wrong.

Shadowheart opened your tent a few minutes later with a urgency that made you jump.

"What? What's wrong?" you asked, blinking blearily in the bright sunlight.

"Are you alright? You never sleep in, you're always up making breakfast!"

You groaned. "Is that it? Are you just hungry?"

She peered at you. "Are you hurt? Did your wound reopen?"

"What? No! I'm fine, I'm just tired, that's all! I have lost a lot of blood recently, in case you forgot."

She sighed. "Oh. Alright. Well, just know the others are worried, too—Astarion especially."

You remembered how he'd checked in on you last night and had asked if he'd hurt you at all when you'd returned to camp and wondered if you had worried him by sleeping in. Suddenly you were grateful the others could chalk it up to his not-so-secret crush on you.

You dressed and hid the light bruises on your neck and collarbones in a high-collared shirt. You only noticed you were walking with a slight limp still after you'd left your tent and made your way across camp.

Karlach called your name and was at your side immediately. "You're limping! Are you hurt? Do you need me to fetch Shadowheart?"

You blinked at her. "What? No. I'm fine!"

"You don't look fine," Gale said, a few feet away, looking up from the book he'd been engrossed in for days. "Did you hurt your leg the other day? Or have your stitches ripped?"

"My, my," said a suave voice behind you. You turned and found Astarion grinning like a cat. "You do have quite the limp, there, darling. Are you sure you're alright?"

You huffed at him, your body remembering his touch immediately, his ghostly hands sliding across your skin. "I'm fine, I promise. Now hush and someone help me make breakfast."

Both Karlach and Astarion sat with you, Astarion very close to you and giving you a smile you couldn't help but return. Karlach stared at Astarion like he'd grown two heads, her gaze flickering between the two of you. She gasped very suddenly.

"Not a word," you hissed at her, knowing she'd figured it out.

Astarion smirked.

"And nothing from you, either," you added. "You're the reason I'm walking like this, you bastard."

He smiled sweetly at you, catching the fondness in the words. "And I gladly will be again." He took your hand and lifted it to his mouth, kissing it. Your eyes grew wide.

Karlach squeaked.

"You know nothing," you told her. "At least for a little while."

"Yes," Astarion agreed. "At the very least, tell Shadowheart nothing—I broke my promise to her to keep our dear girl from doing any strenuous activity."

You turned red and Karlach groaned, "Not before breakfast, please!"

Astarion opened his mouth—undoubtedly to say something about how you were technically his breakfast, based on the hour you'd returned to camp—but you moved quicker than he could speak. You grabbed him by the collar and yanked him toward you, kissing him heartily to shut him up.

A heavy silence settled over camp. You cracked one eye open and found the rest of your companions staring at the pair of you, mouths agape and eyes wide.

"Oops," Astarion muttered, sounding rather pleased.

You cleared your throat. "I, ah, I've been meaning to tell you all. Honestly."

Gale heaved a sigh. "How much do I owe you, Wyll?"

Your jaw dropped open. "You placed bets?!"

"Alright, you bloodsucker," Wyll said, holding his hand out and waiting for his payment from Gale. "You win."

"Yes," Astarion said, and you expected him to be wearing a smirk infused with his charm, his triumphant eyes on the others. But when you turned to him, he was staring at you, a dopey smile fixed on his face. "Yes, I did."

☞ ❊ ☜

Baldur's Gate 3 // Astarion Acunin

part 2 (Sweet Like Wine) {here}!

Taglist: {comment and let me know if you'd like to be added to the Astarion taglist!}

[mide404]

As autumn leaves scatter, the leaves of our memories scatter here and there, carrying with them the cells of time, the words of thoughts, and human emotions. Once upon a time, we grew and matured, we dreamed and aspired, we lived in pleasure, and suffered pain. We experienced desire and ventured into the fields of work.

Now, our dreams have stopped, and our ambitions have dissipated. Our vast and wide hopes have shrunk into small and narrow spaces. From the expansive space... to an unknown world. Today, we lament our youth lost to war, and mourn the days that go to waste. I am overwhelmed now by feelings of boredom, weakness, and helplessness, escaping from our present to our past, and from our future to our past.

When will we be able to live our present moment with hope? Will we be able to turn the days of war into memories and scenes we can accept?

The feelings of departure are painful, sad, and lonely, making the heart throb and the eyes tear up. But when it is a departure from pain and sorrow, from a narrow prison, from long-lasting deprivation, to a long-awaited beloved, to a spacious world where there is no oppression, no harm, no worry, and no trouble... do not be surprised by how one perished, but rather marvel at how one survived in a moment of weakness and pain, my friend.

Just like my family, torn apart by the brutal war, which cruelly claimed my father and did not stop until it took my niece and my sister’s daughter, both with innocent souls... until it reached the point of destroying their home and memories completely. They are now homeless and without support, and the innocent souls have disappeared and left the place. They now live in displacement camps that carry nothing but suffering and torment in their name.

I, Mahmoud Saleh, appeal to you to look upon my torn and displaced family with mercy, and grant them the chance to continue their lives in peace. I stand before these compassionate hearts to help what remains of my family and provide them with a better living, so they may enjoy safety and peace.

@bilal-salah0

[cvntydazai]

bad arguments

how these bsd characters are after a bad argument

pairing; dazai osamu x fem!reader, chuuya nakahara x fem!reader, ryunosuke akutagawa x fem! reader

word count; 916

content warning; unedited, angst, fluff, arguing, miscommunication

a/n; just something random i wrote while taking a break from my dazai fic!

DAZAI OSAMU:

arguing with dazai was exhausting, this man would rather die a painful death than admit he was in the wrong about anything, it was usually why your fights got more out of hand than they ever needed to be. you hated how he tried to deflect from a situation instead of just owning up to his mistakes.

one particularly heated argument had you so riled up you had to leave your apartment, no longer wanting to look your lover in the eye until he was ready to apologize. he didn’t even spare you a glance as you left, a smug expression on his face.

you make your return to your apartment many hours later, it was now nighttime and much too late to be out, especially alone. the first thing your eye catches when you walk through the door is dazai’s fluffy head of hair resting on the couch. you huff, putting your coat up before walking over to the couch.

“are you ready to apol-“ you stop mid-sentence when you realize dazai’s asleep.

he looked uncomfortable, heavy eyebags and his head resting at an awkward angle on the arm rest. you couldn’t help it, a soft coo leaves your lips and it wakes him instantly. those honey eyes were everything but smug this time around.

“my flower, you’re back.” he mumbles, large hands reaching up to caress your face.

“i am..” you say, he smiles.

you continue to stare into his gaze for just a little longer, the silence draping over the two of you like a warm blanket. he knows that what you’re truly waiting for is his apology, he was more than happy to give it to you.

“i’m sorry, for everything. forgive me?” he says at last in his usual supple tone.

of course you forgave him, you always would.

CHUUYA NAKAHARA:

fights with chuuya usually didn’t last long, you two actually pride yourself on your communication when it comes to your relationship. he would never try to hurt you intentionally, you’re the most important person to him and he makes sure you never forget it.

but this one fight had you both out of control. you don’t remember who started it but no one was willing to end it, anything that came out of either of your mouths was only more fuel for the fire. if you were being honest with yourself, it terrified you. it wasn’t chuuya and his capabilities that had you so scared, you knew he would never bring any harm your way, it was the reality that this fight could be the ending to your relationship.

you didn’t want it to end like this, it couldn’t end like this. he was all you had and you would never forgive yourself if this was how it ends. so caught up in your own frightened mind, you didn’t even notice that chuuya quieted down and was staring into your eyes.

“ey, why are you crying?” he didn’t mean for the question to come out as harsh as it did, he was just so taken aback.

when you didn’t reply he really started to worry, his mind no longer focused on whatever you two were bickering about.

“come on doll, please don’t cry. i’m sorry.” his voice only made more salty tears spill from your eyes, in your opinion you didn’t deserve such tenderness.

he wrapped his arms around your frame, his hand on the back of your head and his face buried in your hair. he let you sob your heart out, even if it made his own heart ache. when you finally calmed down you were ready to speak.

“am i still the most important person in the world to you?” he smiled.

“of course you are.”

RYONUSUKE AKUTAGAWA:

you knew your boyfriend wasn’t good at communicating, a part of you had accepted that wholeheartedly. he made his efforts because of how deeply he cared for you and you felt that was enough most of the time. your arguments were mostly about his carelessness when it came to his own personal safety, his nonchalant attitude to your concerns irritated you down to your core.

“if you’re going to act stupid and put yourself in avoidable danger then i’m leaving, i can’t take this.” you misspoke, his eyes widened.

what you truly meant was that you were leaving for a moment to calm down, not leaving him entirely. you could only stare in shock at what nonsense you just spewed from your mouth, guilt weighed down your body, preventing you from taking even one step towards him. it took seeing the fear in his eyes to finally break you free from your mind.

“i’m so sorry, i didn’t mean it like that i swear.” you tried to mend, now wanting nothing more than to put this whole argument behind you.

he let you pull him into a hug, you held his waist tightly to you. when you felt his hand holding the back of your head you breathed a sigh of relief.

“i know you didn’t mean it that way, but it scared me.” you nodded, understanding.

you mumbled a few more apologies and once you both had calmed down you were able to talk about some of your frustrations. it was mostly you talking and him listening, but it felt good knowing he was listening with such care. he promised to be more careful for you, and you promised to watch your wording when you’re upset.

[fy-wonwoo]

[IG] 241028 wonwoo left a comment on seungkwan’s post:

I no longer want to see my loved ones getting hurt. After observing everything that has happened, I’ve tried to suppress my feelings, thinking it would eventually pass. But now, I realize I can’t just watch these situations unfold silently for my fans, my members, and my fellow artists who are working hard.

Being an entertainer is a choice I made, and while I understand that I must endure some pain due to the love I receive, I don’t believe this profession should involve self-destruction. I want to do my best in my work and give back to the fans who support me, sharing the positive energy I can. The pressures and burdens I feel are immense, affecting both my body and mind.

Despite this, we must keep pushing forward. Some look at things rationally, others try to smile through the pain, and some are just enduring as best as they can. I accepted this responsibility when I chose this path, yet today feels particularly harsh and unfair.

Just as some days are bright and others are cloudy, today feels overcast for me. I wonder if I have ever truly tried to stay positive or smile through tough times. Today is not easy, and it saddens me to think of those who are hurting right now. It frustrates me that I can’t comfort everyone, and I question whether my clumsy words can resonate or provide comfort to anyone.

I want to emphasize that my fellow members and those in the K-pop industry I know genuinely love this work. They hurt because they care, and even when they feel empty, they continue to give love to themselves, their members, their families, and their fans.

I want to make it clear: we are not people who can be easily judged for our journey. We have endured pain and challenges to show our best selves on stage, and we work tirelessly for that. Please don’t underestimate what it means to be an idol.

We don’t deserve to have our story treated lightly. This goes for all artists; we are not your items to be used at will. Just one week of music shows can leave us utterly exhausted. Yet, even amidst advertisements, events, and performances, I see colleagues smiling warmly and greeting me. When they do, I smile back, as that is the least I can do. Their simple greetings and heartfelt messages in albums give me strength on tough days.

I appreciate the culture of challenges, where friends, even those who don’t know each other, can share dance videos together. Building small memories together is beautiful, and if it brings joy to the fans, even better. I hope we can all make an effort to be a little warmer. If we support and treat each other kindly, perhaps things can improve. Watching someone fall apart and give up is something I detest. My sincere wish is to stop giving wounds that we cannot take responsibility for. I don’t want to see my members, fellow artists, or our devoted fans hurt any longer. I want to express my love and apologies to those fans who support us so warmly.

ww: As Seungkwan said, I hope this can be a world only full of warmth.

trans

[timmydraker]

Bruce had never been to The Eclipse before.

The club was similar to that of a gentleman’s club from the starting years of America, filled with dozens of tables all curved and ready for a game or feast. The three floors of the place each had a game room, a bar and a section for private rooms for the more seedy type of talks to be had.

It was one of the few non-criminal funded place in Gotham that was still rich. Deals definitely went down, but it was more fitting for gossip that anything else.

Often people went there for catch ups in a refined setting.

Bruce was there for a catch up, or more accurately, a reuniting with his son.

Tim had sent Bruce a time, date and location and said he was only going to meet with him and no one else. Considering Bruce hadn’t seen his beloved son in nearly four years, including his time in the time stream, he accepted without argument.

Tim said he would look different but that if Bruce was as good of a detective as he says, it wouldn’t be a problem.

Bruce had no idea what his son meant until a woman let him inside and told him that ‘Drake had asked you to find him yourself’ with a confused bend in her eyebrows.

It took him a little longer than he’d be happy to admit, although still less than forty seconds, to find his son.

Or maybe that was the wrong word now, if the regal young woman staring at her drink was anything to go by.

Like something out of a vintage movie, the woman had curled black hair and dark red lipsticks. Her dark eyeshadow matched her sweetheart collar dress, black with thick straps and tight enough that each breath was visible.

The gloves on her hand were long and black, one putting a stark contrast to the pink coloured cigarette lit in her hand.

Everything about her screamed old money.

Bruce only knew it was Tim because of the sweet blue eyes and shape of his jaw, though there was also some kind of… paternal instinct in play.

Tim only looked up when he put a hand on the rounded couch, Jim’s tearing nervously down at his distinguished looking child.

It was when she smiled, a real thing that was just highlighted by her dark red lips, that Bruce knew he wasn’t mistaken.

“Hi Bruce.”

A lighter voice, not soft so much as smooth, and nothing like the more monotone sound he was used to.

“Ti-… hi.”

She smiles and gestures for him to sit before taking a final drag of her smoke and putting it out.

Bruce stares at for just a second before looking at his child. Despite the shock of the obvious changes, he notices something far more important, “You look healthy.”

Well fed, clean, nourished.

Like she’s gotten sleep.

“I am. I’ve done a lot of work on myself and it’s paid off.”

Bruce smiles, genuine and almost a little painful, “I can see that. What… what do I call you?”

“Charlotte. Charlotte Jackson Drake.”

“A beautiful name.”

Charlotte smiles before a serious look comes over her face, “Bruce. I haven’t just changed my lifestyle and body, I’ve changed how I look at the world and I’ve come to understand a lot more in my life now.”

Never has Bruce been so attentive, ears feeling on fire as he does his best to focus on every word spoken to him.

“The main thing I’ve come to understand is you.”

Bruce doesn’t move, scared to make his daughter stop talking to him and so he just does his best to show he’s listening.

Charlotte continues, “I get why you brought all of us in. It wasn’t just to protect us from the world, but from ourselves. I can see now that you are only crazy because you’ve been given the impossible challenge of being a necessity in Gotham and the worlds survival and sanity. It doesn’t change that you’ve made mistakes and fucked up, but I get why now. You didn’t want us to apart of Batman, but we forced you, me most of all.”

Bruce is more than stunned by the honesty and understanding in Charlotte’s words, but the fact that he himself only figured that out after loosing Jason.

She smiles at him like she could read his mind, “It took me a long time and I still have anger towards you, yet I want you in my life all the same.”

A gloved hand comes to hold onto his own, delicate and gentle in a way that reminds him of his mother all those years ago.

Charlottes smiles is far too sad to be hers though, “I’m not the boy you once knew, not just because of the woman I want to be now. I don’t want to help you, to save you and parent you, I want to know you. As my father. If-if you’ll allow it?”

Bruce has cried in public before, several times in fact, but normally it’s to play up his over emotional persona.

This time it’s pure relief.

“Of course. Anything you want, at any pace you want, I- what ever you need.”

Charlotte smiles and squeezes his hand, “Thank you.”

Bruce eventually huffs a laugh and wipes his eyes, “god, you really are good at catching me off guard.”

She laughs, a honey like noise that makes him realises he’s never heard Tim smile and that maybe his daughter could only do that once she be same ‘her’.

The two order drinks and Bruce is given the tale of how Charlotte came to be, of how sometimes she misses being Tim but never wants to go back. He learns that she chose her name based on what she would ah e been if she was born a girl so she wouldn’t feel like she was betraying her parents.

Bruce learns that she is still a hero, operating as Red Robin, but that she focuses on prolonged crimes like trafficking rings and makes sure to take them down in on go instead of busting a few and giving the rest a chance to escape.

He’s not so happy to hear that she isn’t ready to talk to the others and that she only really talks to Cass and Duke as both of them have always been on her side and are truely her siblings.

Yet he respects it, if only to keep her close and show her the love he failed to give.

Respecting his daughter’s privacy, he doesn’t tell his other kids anything about what happened and acts ignorant when there’s a few articles about the mysterious Charlotte Drake and her distant relation to the private Tim Drake.

He meets with his little girl, his Lottie, once a week at The Eclipse and talks with her about their businesses both in the literal sense and more broadly.

He meets Bernard and can’t quite see what it is about the strange boy that makes his daughter so happy, but all he needs is to see her big smile and know it doesn’t matter.

That and the several background checks he did.

[cressidagrey]

Stars all aligned - Chapter 3

Summary:

If there was one thing that both Azriel and Zahra Archeron had in common, it was that they were both very good at blending into the background.

They just never thought that their family were going to be the ones who never saw them at all.

Warning:

Bashing of like...every IC member? Especially the Archeron Sisters, discussion of chronic pain

(Lovely dividers thanks to @sweetmelodygraphics)

Her father had had three ships. The Nesta, The Elain and The Feyre. 

There had never been The Zahra. 

Of course not. 

She wasn’t truly one of his daughters, was she? 

The ships were reserved for his legitimate daughters. Zahra was a bastard. And bastards didn’t get ships named after them. 

And still…still she had loved him. Loved her father in that stupid way that every child loved their parent. 

She still had yearned for his love, his affection and praise. The praise that only her sisters ever seemed to get.  It was such a stupid, childish thing, she thought to herself. 

And when he had died...it had still broken her heart. Because it had taken from her the...hope. The hope that one day he would look at her with something other than...regret.

He had looked at her with cold distaste, disdain clear in his eyes. Her mother…a common maid, that he had dallied with on a whim during his wife’s pregnancy with Nesta. And she had been the result of that particular choice. 

He had paid the price for it in his marriage, with the woman he had actually loved.

The woman who had hated Zahra…and made it very clear to everyone that Zahra wasn’t wanted or welcome around them. Her half-sisters were beloved. The beautiful daughters of their father. And she was the bastard child. An abomination. 

For Nesta and Elain the years at the cottage had been horrible. They had lost their status in the world, the hope for a match with a man in possession of a fortune.

But Zahra…Zahra had known that she would never marry a man with a fortune. She had hope at all to marry a man from a good family anyway…her options had been thoroughly limited from the time she had been born…because even servants didn’t often want a bastard born wife. 

And after the cottage…

Her options were just further limited. 

Still, she had loved the years at the cottage for one thing and one thing only: She had just been one of the Archeron Girls. 

(Everything else that happened…that was another thing entirely.) 

She had lost that when her father's wealth had been returned...to be thrown back to being a maid, a servant, not a member of the family, but the staff...it had been bitter. And still...still she had hoped. Hoped that one day, her father would...change his mind. Accept her properly as his daughter and not just as...as something he had been saddled with because her mother had died.

But the day never came. He continued to look at her as if she stained the very air around him. As if she was worse than dirt to him.

Maybe she was. 

But Zahra foolishly didn’t give up. She clung to that hope like it was the only thing that was keeping her alive. 

And then he had died. And Zahra had lost that hope.

She had been a fool to hold onto the delusion that one day her father would love her as he had his real daughters.  Such a silly, stupid, little girl she had been. To cling to something that could never be. 

And still, Zahra went and visited his grave. Still, she came there every week and laid some flowers near the headstone...

She never knew why she still did. It seemed….pointless. After all, it wasn’t as if her coming to his grave would bring him. But still, she continued doing it. Every single week. Without fail. 

And this week…this week she wasn’t alone. 

Zahra froze, the flowers clutched in her hands, as she saw them. All three of them. Standing in front of the headstone. Talking amongst themselves.  As if not even noticing that she was there. 

They probably didn't.

"Thank you for coming with me," Elain said softly. “I wanted him to hear it from me.”

"He would be so happy for you, Elain," Feyre said. Her voice was softer than usual, but it was clear that she was happy. "He would be so happy for you and Lucien."

What?

“He would be,” Nesta agreed. “Sad that he won’t be there to walk you down the aisle, but happy that you would be happy.”

Her sister got engaged? And nobody had...nobody had bothered to tell Zahra?

Her breath caught in her throat…the realization hitting her. They didn’t want to tell her…no, they didn’t care if she knew or not. To them…she wasn’t even worthy enough to get an invite for such a thing. They hadn’t…they hadn’t invited her. 

The numbness returned. Full Force.

The numbness she always felt when everything was too much. When all the feelings and emotions got too overwhelming. When she just simply couldn't handle it any longer and her brain shut down.

Numb. 

Numb was good. When she was numb, nobody could hurt her. When she was numb, she could survive. 

Her hand clenched around the stems of the flowers. And then, suddenly, her feet listened to her and she managed to turn around. To turn around and walk away, like her heart hadn't been shattered...like it was completely normal.

Her eyes had glazed over, her mouth was a thin line, but otherwise not betraying any emotion. As quietly as she had walked to the grave…she walked away. Her sisters clearly not noticing the fact that she had even been there, to begin with. 

She returned home to her broken little cottage.

It was probably a good metaphor for her as well, wasn’t it? she reflected weakly. 

That cottage…broken, dirty…a fucking mess. 

Her hands were cold as she clutched the flowers, her heart aching like it had just been pulled out of her chest. And no tears. No tears. Why wasn’t she crying? She wanted to cry. 

She wanted to collapse and sob until she passed out. But no. The feeling of numbness was still around her, like a cloak that just wouldn’t go. The one that always came in situations like these.

It was the only thing that kept her from completely shattering into a million pieces. 

She stumbled through the door, her body moving all on it’s own. She walked over to her small kitchen, and filled a bucket with water. Her hands shook so badly that the water sloshed over the top and on the floor. 

There was nothing Zahra could do against the grime that would cover her for the rest of her days…but she could scrub the floors.  

That's all she was good for, wasn't it? She was a maid's daughter, not a merchant. She would always just be a bastard daughter. Always just be a half-sister, on the edges of her family. 

It didn’t matter what she did, what she had done…what she had given to keep them alive, to keep them fed.

She swallowed the bile back down, forcing herself not to think about what she had done. 

It was over. She should be over it. She should be…

She kept scrubbing the floor, her hands reddening with the harsh lye soap she used. 

Sometimes she wished, she could scrub herself with that as well. 

Why was she even surprised? Was she seriously that stupid? Of course, her sisters wouldn’t bother to tell her. Why would they? She was just a bastard-born daughter. A half-sister. Why would they bother to invite her? 

She was a nobody. She had always been a nobody.

A bastard that no one wanted. That no one loved. It had always been like that. Why did it surprise her now?

Why did it keep hurting her?

A single drop of water landed on the stone floor. Then another. And another. Slowly trickling down her cheeks.

Why did it keep hurting?

She should be used to this by now. Should have gotten used to the pain. But she wasn’t. 

So she kept scrubbing the floors until they were sparkling. Washed off the walls, until they were clean.

She kept scrubbing and cleaning. The floors had to sparkle, the counter gleamed, and the windows shone. 

Something needed to be clean. Needed to be pure. Because it wasn’t going to be her. 

Never going to be her. 

Anything to distract her from the fact that her sisters had just kept her out of a very joyous occasion. Like she wasn’t even worthy of being invited. 

She wasn't worthy of being invited. She should get that into her thick skull. 

She kept cleaning. She cleaned the floors and the walls and mopped and dusted and did her laundry.

She wondered if Azriel knew. The thought came unbidden to her. Did Azriel know that Elain and Lucien were engaged?

She had to stop the scrubbing and she was clenching the brush so hard that her knuckles had turned white. 

Did Azriel know that Elain was engaged? Elain? The one he had...this flirtation with? The flirtation that Rhysand must have put an end to, because nothing else made sense?

She understood completely why Azriel had fallen for her sister…for beautiful Elain. Who didn’t love her? Who didn’t find her beautiful? Elain, who could be sweet and kind to seemingly everybody she came across. 

Zahra looked at the clock she kept in the kitchen. 

There was a family dinner this evening at the River House, just like there was every week. She was expected to attend. Of course, she was. 

Granted, most of the time that meant that she sat through Nesta’s pointed comments and was otherwise ignored. 

But if Azriel didn’t know…she didn’t want him to be alone when he found out. 

Though, maybe he already knew…just Zahra didn’t. 

She didn't believe that though. He would have told her. She was certain of that.

He was a good man. There was no doubt about that. 

She glanced over at the clock, her hands clenching on the brush. 

Zahra had 2 hours. Just enough time to bake a cake to bring along and appear there...to pretend like her sisters hadn't broken her heart.

Two hours to pretend that her heart wasn’t shattered to a thousand pieces. Two hours to act as if she hadn’t been just completely left out. Two 

She took a deep breath, forcing herself to calm down. No tears. No tears.

2 hours to act like everything was well.

2 hours to pretend that everything was alright. That she was fine. That her world hadn’t just shattered into pieces. Two hours to shove all the pain to a little corner and not show anything at all. 

She could do that. 

She had done that before. 

***

Azriel would have realised that something was off with Zahra far quicker, if his hands weren't trying to kill him that day.

It was hit or miss if Azriel’s had feeling in his hands at all...and that day...they decided to be far too sensitive. The weather wasn't helping. Velaris had had another cold snap a few days ago and Azriel paid the price.

The bones in his hands and fingers ached, the nerves on fire. The cold had settled deep in his bones and there was nothing he could do to alleviate the pain. It was rubbing his nerves raw.

He had even considered not showing up for dinner at well...but he didn't want Zahra to face the rest of their family alone. 

Granted, most of the time, they just ignored them both…but sometimes they didn’t. 

And when they didn’t ignore her, well, then sharp comments were the norm and quite frankly…he was over it. For both Zahra and himself. 

His temper was on a far shorter tether than normally. 

His fingers were aching and burning. He never wanted to touch anything ever again.

He tried to ignore the pain. It was only a few hours. He could push through for a few hours. 

The first thing that should have told him that something was wrong was the bright pasted on smile on Zahra's face. It was...too much.

The smile on her face was too tight. Too forced. Not like her normal, natural smile.

Something was wrong. He could sense it. 

And then Elain showed off her ring.

The engagement ring. She and Lucien were engaged.

He saw Zahra’s face freeze for a split second before the smile was back to being plastered on again.

“I wish you two every happiness,” Azriel said softly. He found that he was even saying the truth. He was wishing them every happiness.

And this was what they all wanted him to say. It would hopefully get Rhys off his back as well.

Now, that wasn't that difficult, was it? Rhys drawled in his mind. Azriel was half tempted to reach for his shadows and wrap them around his brother’s throat.

But he refrained himself from it.

He was glad that they were happy. He truly was...but Rhys’s smug voice in his head was not something that was appreciated at all.

He could practically feel the shadows twitch with annoyance. But he held back from doing anything...stupid. 

You got what you wanted, Azriel gave back, his voice icy.

Indeed I did, Rhys drawled back. Azriel could practically feel him leaning back in his chair, smugness seeping from his voice.

Azriel very much wanted to strangle him. 

But he didn’t. Because quite frankly…he was more worried about Zahra. Zahra who hadn’t said a word yet. Whose smile was far too tight, her eyes dull. 

Like a mask that was pulled over her face, hiding whatever laid beneath it. 

Something was definitely wrong with her. 

But nobody but him seemed to notice it. 

Especially not when Zahra was very good at making the mask as enthusiastic as Mor on her best days. 

“I am so happy for you! Congrats!” she gushed to Elain. “I hope you have a long and happy marriage.”

“Yeah, because you absolutely respect the sanctity of marriage,” Nesta muttered under her breath, low enough that Azriel nearly wouldn’t have caught it, if the shadows hadn’t snapped it up. 

The sanctity of marriage? From where was that coming from?

But then Zahra continued, her voice too high pitched. Way too cheery. Not like how normally she spoke. But no one else seemed to notice.

Her words were clearly fake, but no one but Azriel seemed to notice. 

"I know Father would be so pleased for you," Zahra continued, Nesta snorting under her breath and making a face like she had bitten into a sour lemon. Elain's face seemed to nearly freeze but Zahra just continued smiling brightly.

Even the mention of their father would usually cause Zahra to falter slightly…but today she didn’t even skip a beat. The smile stayed on her face, even as she continued to speak. Her voice was far too cheery, it was almost painful to listen to. 

Azriel glanced around the table at his family. None of them seemed to notice how...off Zahra seemed. Her cheerful voice and her overly bright smile.

How come no one else noticed? How could they not see how obviously fake she was acting? 

But then, nobody really cared, did they?

The rest of the family dinner was taken up with talking about Elain and Lucien's upcoming nuptials, an nothing else seemed to matter to them at all. 

Nobody gave them a second glance either when Zahra said her goodbyes and he followed after her, minutes later.

He caught up to her on a bridge crossing the Sidra. "Tell me what's wrong," he demanded sharply.

"Nothing is wrong," Zahra said, her voice, smooth and bubbly. He would give it to her: She was one hell of an actress. It was near imperceptively how well she was lying. But the dead look in her eyes gave her away.  "My sister just got engaged, what could possible be wrong?"

"Don't lie to me," Azriel bit out. “I can tell something is wrong. Now tell me what it is.”

His patience was fraying at the edges.

"What's wrong with your hands?" she shot back. "You have been clenching and unclenching them continuously."

“They hurt if it rains,” he gave back tightly. “Now you.” 

She stared at him, obviously not having expected him to actually answer that question. 

And then Zahra crossed her arms, nearly hugging herself as he had seen her do often, whenever there was something…something that brought up memories she didn’t want to think about. 

“Feyre, Elain and Nesta went to visit our father’s gravestone. I wasn’t invited," Zahra whispered, not looking at him. She kept walking, staring down at her feet. Clad in leather shoes that had already seen much better days.  

He could just stare at her. 

"You...you weren't invited?" He repeated back, stopping on the bridge.

She was their sister. And they had just not…not invited her? 

“I went to lay flowers there this morning, and I saw them,” Zahra said thickly. “Elain told him about her engagement….All three were there. I wasn’t invited.” 

He clenched his hands into fists again, the pain returning to them with a vengeance. 

“It’s fine, it shouldn’t hurt me," she said thickly. "They are his daughters. He had three ships named after his three daughters. And then there is me."

He was still trying to process her words. "It’s not fine,” he snapped out, anger rising in his chest. How could they just exclude her like that? “You are his daughter as well. You are their sister,” he continued, following after her. “They shouldn’t have just excluded you like that.” 

Zahra just shrugged, her shoulders caving in.

He felt her wobble on her feet and he reacted without even thinking about it. His hand shot out to grab her arm to keep her upright. He held her by the elbow gently to help balance her.

He watched as she continued walking, her shoulders slumped in. Her voice was quiet, like a whisper. “I know where I stand now...right?” 

They both knew it, didn't they? Rhys got what he wanted and was happy about it and how Azriel felt didn't matter...and Zahra...

Their family had never been normal by any means, but he had never thought...no, he had hoped. He had really hoped that they would never leave Zahra out like that. But they had done that this time. Left her out, like she was nothing. Like she didn't matter at all. 

And he hated that realization. He was used to solving problems. But this…there was no solving this. No way that he could fix this mess. 

"How bad do they hurt?" she asked him suddenly, her voice still broken. Or again.

He was surprised by her question, but he quickly looked down at his hands...his hands were clenched into fists, and his knuckles were turning white. He loosened his fists a bit and grimaced.

“Like hell, but I’ll be fine,” he muttered out. 

“Don’t you have a cream or salve from Madja or something?” she asked him, still holding onto his arm as they made their way to her cottage in unspoken agreement. 

“I do,” he agreed with a sigh. “It just doesn’t help much.” Or at all. A drop of water onto an inferno. 

“Let’s go home and try that,” Zahra said nonetheless. “I  have a hot water bottle you can have as well…does warmth help?” 

“It does,” he answered, surprised by how…much she was trying to help. Even now. Even when she had the most horrible day he could imagine…she was still trying to make him feel better. 

Her cottage was sparkling clean that evening…spotless and immaculate. 

The shadows fetched the salve as he sat down heavily at her kitchen table. Zahra returned just seconds later, bandages in her hand. 

He had expected her to hand him both and was startled when she grasped his hand.

Azriel had been expecting her to just hand him the salve and the bandages. He had not been expecting her to actually just take his hand in hers. To not even hesitate. 

To touch the scarred skin like it didn’t even matter.  People flinched back from the scars. they didn't just...He had people flinch away from his scarred hands before. He had never had someone just grasp them in theirs and not even blink at the sight of the scars. 

But she wasn’t done shocking him. Not when she started spreading the salve over his hands, gently and thoroughly.

Her fingers spread the salve over his skin with gentle, circular motions. The salve was warm on his skin and it brought immediate relief. He could feel his hands slowly relax under her touch. 

He felt it more than he saw it at first...though then it became visible as well. Her hands warmed up against his skin, something like a prickling sensation under his skin, but the feeling was....nice. soothing. And then he could just stare at the glowing golden light that radiated from her skin as she cradled his hands.

"Sorry," she apologised meekly, the light stuttering. "Normally it's just sparks."

He was staring, mesmerized almost at the light.

It was only after a moment that he finally processed her words. “Sparks?” He questioned, his voice much softer than usual. 

Zahra nodded. 

Seconds later, sparks started to dance across her skin. Tiny, golden sparks. Like little stars, dancing across her skin. 

“It’s beautiful,” he found himself saying, his voice sounding a bit raspy. He was completely transfixed as he stared at the lights dancing across her skin. 

Azriel had never seen anything more beautiful in 500 years of life. 

It was…utterly mesmerising. 

Only then he realised that his hands didn't hurt anymore.

No ache, no burn, no stiffness. Nothing. It was just...the soft, gentle touch of her hands on his.

"Since when...Since when can you..." he asked, his voice raw.

He could not even form a proper sentence as he looked down at his hands. No stiffness, no ache, no pain. For the first time in years, he was feeling...nothing in his hands. 

He gently flexed the fingers of his hands, curling them. He felt nothing. Just the smooth, pleasant glide of the skin. Not a single throb or ache. Nothing. It was completely...incredible. 

He continued to stare at his hands, still completely and utterly speechless. His hands...the pain he had been dealing with in his hands for as long as he could remember...it was just gone. 

The scars were still very much there. Visible, and the sight of them would always cause his heart to ache. But the pain he had come to know so well...it was gone. 

The scars were still visible, but the pain…

He slowly looked up to her face, still completely, mind-numbingly stunned by what had happened. “How...what did you...? How?” He managed to ask, his voice breathless. 

"What?" Zahra asked him, her voice shaky. "I didn't hurt you accidentally, did I?"

He quickly shook his head “No, no, you did not hurt me at all," Azriel quickly assured her. “Quite the opposite, actually…” He said, flexing his hands again. He still felt no pain.  “They don’t hurt me anymore.”

He flexed and curled his fingers again, watching as they did so easily. No stiffness, no pain. He felt...nothing. 

"The sparks came after the cauldron," Zahra answered quietly.

“The cauldron?” He repeated back. The cauldron. 

Of course. 

"Can't see the future or be pure death, but I do have sparks," Zahra quipped weakly. “Useless, I know.“

No. Not useless at all.

Pure Golden Light. Healing Light. Similiar to Dawn’s gift maybe…but then he saw the sparks still dancing around Zahra and corrected that. 

No. Not similar. Completely unique to her. Cauldron-wrought. 

"No," he disagreed, unable not to stare at her. "Not useless at all, sunshine. You are pure light."

[wizardrousactivity]

The Rat, Dead Dog. 

The Rat, Dead Dog. 

“I’ve told you, it’s not me-” — You were trained to never fall under pressure, your pleas falling under his deaf ears. Another cut to your calf when he doesn’t hear you forthwith giving up the information, it doesn’t matter how desperate you sound, nobody is here to save you anymore. They can’t trust you anymore. 

He’s trying to convince himself he doesn’t feel bad, that he’s only doing his friends a favor. Getting rid of you for good - dispensing with the waste of the world, which unfortunately had to be you, didn’t it? The only person that he thought he could trust, you bewitched him. The mask had slipped off because of you, the imperfections were perfected because of you. Now it’s only a cold shoulder - if he’d even give you that. “Give us the fucking information,” The use of your moniker is the way he’d gain your sultry glare. 

You’ve been beaten and battered for days by Simon, and it still feels like months the longer his torture traverses. The metal of the chair you sit on starting to turn red with gore. You fear to lose yourself, if not for the keen rage that fumes, revenge written on its blemishes. “I don’t have the information you want.” You never thought you’d be in such a position with him, a foolish hound falling victim to your framing.  

It’s surprising you weren’t immediately cut off with another lash, the gash he’s continuously spread starting to reach your bone, you dread the stinging of your flesh, held back by a grunted-sob.  For only a second you see his gaze soften with emotion he lacked, like he truly wanted to believe you, and by-god did he wish to - in the event that the threads didn’t lead to you. He swallows. 

There’s too much evidence against you, and his team. His own pathetic feelings aren’t worth the risk of keeping you around, he doesn't think he could handle having you captive with them for long, holding a rat that was dressed up with a story just to use them, use him after everything that happened. The sight would haunt him if you weren’t gone, the weight of his loved one turning out to be a spy, living in a room on base.

The depravity of reality sets on him now, painfully dawning on him. 

He needs to dispose you. For everybody’s sake. 

His hand white-knuckles around the knife, your chest tightens while the behemoth starts to stand to his full stature - an unpredictable mongrel you can only imagine what is coming next, his dilating pupils trembling as he looks at you with terror. The task of your murder would save his mates, and eat him from the inside once he was finished. If there is no information you have to spout - you are better useful dead to them, they could get it themselves. “Simon..” There's no response from him. You are not needed anymore. Don’t make it painful. 

Yet you’re saved by the bell, his head turning as the call from the mohawk is made. Shouting for his arrival with urgency. You only look to the floor as footsteps echo, signifying his leave for the day. "Fuck you."

The gashes in your legs have pooled themselves and made home around your feet, cold air running along the insides of your flesh, and you shudder against your constraints - the feeling is enough to make you nauseous with the sensory you experience. There’s nothing for you to throw up anyway, if there was, it would be your intestines. 

Your heart cinches, as you sit there with the thought of having to live with the fact you’ve been framed, then to die known as the rat in 141, that’s all you’ll ever be now. You’re just another damaged dog, you’ve joined their cult of forever deprecating. Their muffled banter plays beside your ear as you weep.

You’ve accepted that your funeral won’t be made, that nobody will ever honor your death or mourn during it.

[daretoassume]

77 quotes to change your perspective

carl jung

"if the path before you is clear, you are probably on someone else's."

"until you make the unconscious conscious, it will direct your life, and you will call it fate."

"the world will ask who you are, and if you do not know, the world will tell you."

"it all depends on how we look at things and not how they are in themselves."

"there is no coming to consciousness without pain."

joe dispenza

"can you accept the notion that once you change your internal state, you do not need the external world to provide you with a reason to feel joy, gratitude, appreciation, or any other elevated emotion?"

"if you want a new outcome, you will have to break the habit of being yourself and reinvent a new self."

"if you were to start investing your attention and energy into the unknown, your body would then be able to follow your mind into the unknown—a new experience in your future."

"if you cannot get beyond your stresses, your problems, and your pain, you cannot create a new future where those things do not exist."

"if you focus on the known, you get the known. if you focus on the unknown, you create a possibility."

eckhart tolle

"the primary cause of unhappiness is never the situation but your thoughts about it."

"life is not as serious as the mind makes it out to be."

"you find peace not by rearranging the circumstances of your life but by realizing who you are at the deepest level."

"pleasure is always derived from something outside you, whereas joy arises from within."

"most of the so-called bad things that happen in people's lives are due to unconsciousness. they are self-created, or rather ego-created."

wayne dyer

"when you judge another, you do not define them, you define yourself."

"you are not stuck where you are unless you decide to be."

"begin to see yourself as a soul with a body rather than a body with a soul."

"be miserable. or motivate yourself. whatever has to be done, it is always your choice."

"you are what you choose to be today. not what you have chosen to be before."

louise hay

"every thought we think is creating our future."

"i do not fix problems. i fix my thinking. then problems fix themselves."

"you have been criticizing yourself for years, and it has not worked. try approving of yourself and see what happens."

"there is no written law that says that because you once believed something, you have to continue to believe it forever."

"the more we love ourselves, the less we project our pain onto the world."

jen sincero

"if you are serious about changing your life, you will find a way. if you are not, you will find an excuse."

"your life is your party. you get to choose how you invite people and experiences and things into it."

"you need to go from wanting to change your life to deciding to change your life."

"what you tell yourself on a daily basis is more powerful than you know."

"comparison is the fastest way to take all the fun out of life."

tony robbins

"it is your decisions and not your conditions that determine your destiny."

"you cannot have a plan for your day until you have a plan for your life."

"belief in limits creates limited people."

"the only thing that is keeping you from getting what you want is the story you keep telling yourself."

"if i could uncover what beliefs and values control me, i could literally redesign myself."

marcus aurelius

"the happiness of your life depends upon the quality of your thoughts."

"our life is what our thoughts make it."

"the best revenge is not to be like your enemy."

"every living organism is fulfilled when it follows the right path for its own nature."

"today i escaped anxiety. or no, i discarded it because it was within me, in my own perceptions—not outside."

jay shetty

"the more we define ourselves in relation to the people around us, the more lost we are."

"actually, the greatest detachment is being close to everything and not letting it consume and own you."

"it is impossible to build one's own happiness on the unhappiness of others."

"if you are satisfied with who you are, you do not need to prove your worth to anyone else."

"the grass is greener where you water it."

mel robbins

"if you only ever did the things you do not want to do, you would have everything you have ever wanted."

"you are one decision away from a completely different life."

"when it comes to change, goals, and dreams, you have to bet on yourself."

"change your decisions, and you will change your life. and what will change your decisions more than anything? courage."

"if you have the courage to start, you have the courage to succeed."

alan watts

"man suffers only because he takes seriously what the gods made for fun."

"never pretend to a love which you do not actually feel, for love is not ours to command."

"you are under no obligation to be the same person you were 5 minutes ago."

"a person who thinks all the time has nothing to think about except thoughts. so, he loses touch with reality and lives in a world of illusions."

"hurrying and delaying are alike ways of trying to resist the present."

ram dass

"the quieter you become, the more you can hear."

"your problem is you are too busy holding on to your unworthiness."

"i can do nothing for you but work on myself…you can do nothing for me but work on yourself."

"free yourself from the illusion of good and bad days. labeling time makes us nostalgic for the past and demanding the future. there is only here and now. let it be."

"no matter what someone else does to you, never put anyone out of your heart."

lao tzu

"care about what other people think, and you will always be their prisoner."

"the best fighter is never angry."

"respond intelligently even to unintelligent treatment."

"if you do not change direction, you may end up where you are heading."

"nature never hurries, yet everything is accomplished."

muhammad ali

"if my mind can conceive it, and my heart can believe it—then i can achieve it."

"do not quit. suffer now and live the rest of your life as a champion."

"he who is not courageous enough to take risks will accomplish nothing in life."

"i have never let anyone talk me into not believing in myself."

"i am the greatest. i said that even before i knew i was."

steve harvey

"you cannot leave what is important to you up to someone else."

"stop wasting time looking at someone else's reality while doing nothing about yours."

"the dream is free, but the hustle is sold separately."

"your dream has to be bigger than your fear."

"you cannot tell big dreams to small-minded people."

albert einstein

"i am enough of an artist to draw freely upon my imagination. imagination is more important than knowledge. knowledge is limited. imagination encircles the world."

"anyone who has never made a mistake has never tried anything new."

𓍯 entryfromsane004 (extracted from the old blog two years ago)