#this one left me feeling bitter at least until sands of time

[multifandomme]

F**k It, I Love You

Pairing: Olivia Benson x Elliot Stabler

Summary: With no boundaries left to impede them, Elliot and Olivia's partnership finally crosses the line.

Genre: Smut, (masturbation, accidental voyeurism, power dynamics, choking, face slapping, hair-pulling, oral sex, makeshift restraints, teasing, humiliation, praise, scratching, biting, marking), not suitable for minors.

Word Count: 5.4k.

This piece is for day 1 of kinktober under the 'reunion sex' prompt.

More works from me here. || Masterlist here. || Kinktober 2024 Masterlist here.

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The boundary had always been Kathy, unequivocal, immovable, a clear-cut line in the sand that Olivia had never dreamed of impinging upon. The mask of respect that she outwardly donned however, did not extend to the shielded confinement of her mind, a place where this limit had been breached on countless occasions. Elliot existed in her thoughts in every imaginable capacity, intertwined with her, each vivid fantasy of him filthier than the last.

This twisted reality had haunted Olivia for decades, unable to shake loose from him, not wanting to, forever wishing for an alternative set of circumstances, a way for them to be together some way, somehow. Holding out hope was dangerous and yet Olivia found herself clinging onto it, bottling it, stashing it away, preserving every remaining scintilla of it, undeterred by the potentiality of bitter disappointment.

Through all the unrelenting hardships and epochs of absence, Elliot would always come ricocheting back when she least expected it, when she needed him and the missing piece that his presence gifted unto her would make her whole again. 

When the news of Kathy’s untimely death had first found Olivia, her emotions had been blown into complete disarray, the initial pang of grief rendering her still, speechless. It had taken weeks for the denial to cease its gnawing of her, the sadness gradually fading away until it settled into a weight that embedded itself deep into her chest. She worried more so for Elliot, never having been one to bode well when emotions were involved and in particular, matters of the heart.

Unsurprisingly, he had not yet initiated contact, opting instead to lock himself away as Olivia secretly pined for him, a feeling she knew all too well. She wondered what would be left of him when he inevitably returned to her, wondered how long he would wait until he surrendered to the ironclad magnetism that held them together.

On the exterior, Olivia’s reaction to Kathy’s passing had been wholly unremarkable, save from the bizarre sense of atonement that had accompanied the pain. It was something that she feared was exclusive only to her, in fact, Olivia knew that it was, unable to refute the relief she had felt at finally allowing herself to set down the guilt that she had been condemned to lug along with her.

For the first time, Elliot’s salacious existence in her mind would go unpunished, no longer sullied with afterthoughts of self-hatred or regret or the vexing reality that he belonged to another. The flickering candle of optimism toppled to the ground, but it did not waver. No, Olivia doused it in gasoline until its feeble, golden flame reshaped into a mighty inferno, free of control. And suddenly, the hope that she had vehemently defended, the fantasy of Elliot being hers at last did not seem so futile or far-fetched, not anymore.

Devoid of Elliot, the yearning that plagued Olivia had only worsened, heightened tenfold, uninterrupted hours spent immersed in the refuge of her mind. Elliot lived there, uninhibited, a permanent resident, his face overlaid in a smugness that taunted her, that made her believe that he was somehow aware that he governed her every thought. And the walls of her office would watch as Olivia submitted to another sensuous vision of him, so profound, so real that it drove her fingers beneath her waistband and tore stifled whimpers from her.

Concealed behind her desk, Olivia would bask in the momentary alleviation that she had afforded herself, destined to be impeded by a knock at the door or the calling of her name from beyond the glass. And in her mind’s eye, Elliot mocked her pitiful attempt at release, laughed at the persistent throb that ailed her, his humiliation of her merely inducing a fresh influx of arousal.

The rumblings of residual cortisol thrummed without respite as Olivia resigned herself to bed, another day at the precinct having reached its conclusion. Falling asleep was always the difficult part, though Olivia had devised a foolproof routine to quell her insomnia, a way to replace the heinous images of the working day with ones that brought her contentment.

In the encompassing darkness, Olivia’s hand slid into the drawer of the nightstand, landing upon the selection of toys that lay therein, blindly assessing the choices through the instrument of touch alone. Recently, she had noticed herself gravitating towards those of the larger category, seeking to emulate Elliot in any which way that she could or at least the assumptions she had created of him. In a split second, he had successfully clawed his way to the forefront of her thoughts, Olivia so fiercely consumed that she abandoned her intended quest to grope at her breasts instead.

“What are you doing to me, Elliot?” Olivia whispered, her question fated to be swallowed by the surrounding silence, her nipples painfully rigid as they poked into the soft skin of her palms.

Olivia’s inner dialogue scolded her for being so weak, for possessing a level of self-control so frail, so laughable that it filled her with shame. But, once the steady stream of pleasure had begun its irresistible corruption of her, she knew that she was a lost cause, her reason eroding, incapable of prying herself from the bruising grasp of gratification. Olivia’s thumbs caressed the hardened buds with undying enthusiasm, her back bowing from the mattress, thighs squashed together in a hollow bid to placate her boundless craving.

The sensation was addictive, her desire only exacerbated by the image of Elliot’s muscular frame fixed in her brain, his calloused hands roaming her body, his voice gruff in her ear. His affect on her was incontestable, a sharp pain slowly occurring to her until she was forced to acknowledge just how harshly she had been touching herself to the thought of him. Her nipples ached, the sparks of libidinous torment splintering off until they established residence between the valley of her thighs, pulsating, commanding attention.

The purposeful torture that Olivia had incited saw her pussy pooling with arousal, two fingers snaking downwards to dance languidly through the wetness there. Without consulting her consciousness, her hips bucked with impatience, delighted by the newfound contact as she wrangled to keep her excitement under control. It was easier said than done, especially when Elliot’s incorporeal appearance spurred her on so tenaciously, as if he was as eager to witness her climax as Olivia was to feel it wash over her.

“Fuck,” Olivia cursed, breathlessly, a hint of anger puncturing the veil of blatant desperation, the prospect of Elliot leaving her in such a hopeless condition beginning to frustrate her. “I need you, Elliot."

Faltering exhales occluded the calm of night, Olivia’s gentle fingertips drawing aimless patterns over her clit, painted in slick, her wetness unhoused and merely accumulating further. In a frenzied bid to actualise her climax, Olivia’s fingers dipped lower, impaling herself upon them with an audible gasp, the prior languidness of her motion mutating into a pace so merciless that she struggled for oxygen. Olivia’s pussy fluttered erratically, startled by the sudden speed, the cries and curse words that freed from her lips loudening with each passing second.

“Elliot,” Olivia husked, repeating his name like a mantra as she introduced another digit and plunged into herself forcefully, mindlessly, “Harder, Elliot, fuck."

And there, dangling on the cusp, the subtlest creak of a noise diverted Olivia’s attention and subsequently levelled her pleasure to zero. Abruptly, the air in the room became frigid, icy, marked enough for Olivia’s adrenaline to be called into activation. The lack of light only worked against her, the meagre slivers that had managed to sneak through the curtains illuminating the doorway like a single votive in a gargantuan cathedral.

Olivia squinted, hyper-focused, disturbed to uncover the presence of a shadowy figure lingering in the doorway of her bedroom, approaching, closing in gradually until the flitting semblance of light allowed enough to deduce its identity, his identity.

Though ephemeral, the moment of stillness that existed betwixt them seemed to endure. And if the piercing blue-grey eyes that bored holes into hers had belonged to anyone but Elliot, Olivia was certain that she would have been positively racked with fear, unnerved by the vulnerability that engulfed her. But Elliot was an unending safe place, a space to crawl into when she could not face things alone, a space where the walls were bulletproof and his strong arms around her were enough to drown out anything and everything that troubled her. 

“What are you doing here?” Olivia asked, frantically, her faculties finally re-engaging as she battled to preserve whatever remained of her modesty with the bedclothes, “How did you get in, Elliot?”

Elliot frowned in confusion, his head tilted lightly as he attempted to decipher the scene before him, stationary and silent as if he had dissociated as a means of protecting himself from the temptation that soundlessly beckoned him. 

“I still have a key,” he spoke, his tone lilted as if posing a question, “You gave it to me when…” His voice softened until the words simply melted away, mouth agape as though he had forgotten how to speak entirely, as though he had forgotten everything he had ever known all at once.

The silence was unnatural, a partnership that had spanned decades slowly slipping from their grasps and transforming into something that didn’t necessarily have a name, indescribable, different. It was unusual for Elliot to withstand such quiet for so long and Olivia had begun to accept that perhaps this was all too much for him too soon. Instinctively, she drew the blanket closer to her body, a paralysing humiliation casting its shadow over her until it enveloped her completely.

“You were thinking about me,” he stated, his voice a mere whisper and Olivia could not decide whether it had been a sign of intrigue or dismay, though she had held out hope for the former. "You called out for me."

Olivia had spent years fighting to understand him, to know him and in an instant, she felt her confidence falling by the wayside. The doubt infected her, the emotion that played on Elliot’s face so utterly unreadable that she worried it was all too late, that perhaps she had blindsided him so irrevocably that things would never be the same.

“Yes, I did, Elliot,” she admitted, meekly, her eyes squeezed together from the unmitigated embarrassment of having to recite the truth aloud, “I didn’t know that you would be here and… well, you didn’t call ahead.”

“So, this is my fault?" Elliot scoffed, knowingly, the subtle rolling of his eyes signifying that his reply was intended with jest, though his effort to lighten the mood was unsuccessful.

Olivia glared at him, the palpable indignation setting Elliot's cheeks ablaze. This fleeting display of anger from his partner dissipated as quickly as it arose when Olivia caught sight of the arrogant little smirk that had upturned the corners of Elliot’s lips. She noted its distinct familiarity, one expression that she was sure to remember until her dying day, a look that almost always spelled mischief.

“What?” Olivia questioned, warily, struck by a strange sense of self-consciousness as he dared to stride further over the threshold with a powerful confidence, the fingers of one hand toying idly with the top button of his shirt.

“You want help finishing the job?” He smirked, his orbs brighter than she had ever seen them, incandescent, evocative, “Seemed to me as though you had it covered but if there’s room for one more…”

Years of pent up rage exited before Olivia had the opportunity to compose herself, a loud huff of air forcing itself from her nostrils, her jaw visibly clenched, her gaze unyielding.

“You really have no idea do you, Elliot?” She exploded, her fury raw, unbridled as she clasped the bedsheets around herself like her life depended on it, purposely denying him even a glimpse of her skin as punishment for being so flippant. “I have spent years thinking about you, wishing I wasn’t, wishing it was anyone else that I had these thoughts about. But it was you, it is you. And I refuse to lie to you anymore. Yes, Elliot, I think about you when I fuck myself, I think about you every hour of every fucking day and I’m sorry about it. And I know that you find this funny and amusing, but it isn’t. It’s been eating me alive, this, this guilt, these feelings, not being able to confide in you, not being able to have you. I…”

Elliot pursed his lips together so tightly that they tinged white, a sharp inhale obstructing the silence, the tension so heavy that Olivia could feel its physical weight pinning her in place. The world appeared to grind to a halt, Olivia briefly losing the ability to breathe as she speculated Elliot’s next move, only praying that the spilling of her darkest secrets had not been in vain.

“You want to play with me, Captain?” Elliot whispered, a sound so hypnotic that her brain seemed to empty itself of its contents. “Want to see how those filthy little fantasies of yours really play out?”

Olivia sucked in a shaky breath, “Yes."

“What’s your safe word?”

“Compass.”

The expeditious reply almost saw Olivia’s words colliding with his, Elliot fascinated by her eagerness, but more so by the way she bent to his will so effortlessly.

“Someone's prepared,” he mused, licking his lips as he sized Olivia up, his eyes raking over her like a predator bracing itself before it pounced and subdued its next meal. “I’m impressed.”

“Well, I have had years to think on it,” Olivia reminded, boldly, a stirring fervour manifesting in the pit of her stomach as she observed Elliot’s aura darken visibly before her. "But you knew that, didn't you, Detective?"

“Get over here.” He barked, coarsely, his index finger pointing to the edge of the bed, the space below which his burly frame loomed over. “Lose the blanket while you’re at it.”

Elliot’s brazen demands had taken Olivia back, the distinct lowering of his voice sending shivers along her spine. Olivia recognised that voice. That voice thrust her backwards in time, to instances spent with Elliot in the interrogation room, creeping out from its cage and instructing her to look away, to turn a blind eye. It was that voice that caused the cameras to switch off as if by magic, always coincidentally moments before he slammed a perp's head repeatedly against the two-way mirror until they were reduced to a lifeless pulp.

What Elliot was blissfully unaware of was the scene that often lay behind that very mirror as he roughed up a criminal, should his curiosity have ever piqued enough for him to peer through it. There, Olivia would be, deliberately defying his order to avert her gaze, a lip cinched between her teeth in delight as he punched and slapped and kicked. Olivia should have been concerned, terrified even given what she did know, and yet she found herself wet, arousal surging in as if it had never left.

Yes, that voice could coax her into anything, and she would let it.

“Don’t make me ask you again,” Elliot snarled, lunging forth and dragging Olivia to the edge of the bed before she was even given the chance to comply, her jaw pinched firmly between his fingers. “See, we’re off the clock, Captain,” he taunted, forcing his thumb harshly against her bottom teeth as he pried her mouth wide and revelled in the way she squirmed in response. “Technically that means…” He sighed, his expression pensive as though ruminating on something of great importance, though Olivia knew better than to trust the veneer. “I guess that makes you my bitch for a change, hm?”

Olivia jostled herself expertly from his grasp, no stranger to a power struggle, Elliot quick to conquer her with his hand encircled tightly around her neck. A wicked grin spanned her mouth and Elliot feared he was about to unearth more than he had ever bargained for.

“Then you’d better make damn sure I fall in line, Detective.”

The audacious threat burst from her lips and betrayed her better judgement, a crazed countenance staring back at her, the vein upon his forehead jutting out into visibility. Strangely, the abrupt sound of laughter permeated the space, his breath tickling her cheeks, his grip on her merely tightening. And, then pain, a hearty slap delivered to Olivia’s right cheek with such force that it left her tumbling to the ground below him. Her skin scorched in the wake of him as she battled to camouflage the tiny smirk that threatened to unravel itself into clarity. Elliot loomed above, his chest puffed out in triumph as his partner crawled to his feet in a soundless plea for more.

“You like that, don’t you?” Elliot probed, though the answer shone with blatancy, drowning in the vision of Olivia’s docility, the way she peered up at him with unmistakeable zeal.

Olivia had ascended to places unknown, certain that the brutal blow had knocked her brain around a little too much to arrive at a coherent thought, not yet.

“Answer me.” Elliot’s question yanked her back into reality, his tongue glossing over his lips before the familiar pain materialised once more and clouded her periphery.

“Yes, fuck,” Olivia hissed, a stifled half-moan spilling out as an afterthought, her cheek torrid to the touch and now decorated in sanguine. “I like it.”

The red hue deepened, though this time its catalyst was not as favourable as the previous one, humiliation bubbling steadily below the surface. Still, Olivia had pledged her honesty to Elliot long ago and intended to preserve it, no matter the cost.

“I have to say, Captain, I never pegged you as a masochist,” Elliot admitted, his gaze intense, uncompromising. “You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?”

“A detective working under a misconception? How could you, Elliot?” Olivia mocked, teasingly, her bravery stripped from her as she felt her chin dragged upward, a fistful of brunette finding home in his hand. “Tell me,” she continued, dauntless in spite of the pain that plucked at her scalp and set it alight, “What did you peg me as?”

A devilish grin bloomed upon his face as he released Olivia from his grasp, albeit roughly, disentangling the strands from his digits. Wordlessly, his thumb danced its way along the full flesh of her lips, his hunger awakening tenfold as he noticed an enveloping warmth, Olivia suckling with such ferocity that his digit vanished into the depths of her mouth.

“Vanilla,” he surmised, an uncontrollable hum falling from him at just how misguided he had been in his assumptions, disproven further by the scene that was unfolding before him. Elliot withdrew his thumb, replacing its absence with two long digits instead, jamming methodically, a smirk befalling. “Good old missionary position,” he clarified, amused by the emergence of water flocking to Olivia’s tear ducts in abundance, her cheekbones hollowed as she peered up at him through glassy, half-lidded eyes. “Thought you were a good girl.”

The final two words conjured a visceral reaction, Olivia’s hand descending tactlessly to rub avidly at her clit, the distinct vibration of her moans rumbling around Elliot’s driving fingers. Positively bewitched by Olivia’s valiant effort to display her mouth’s undebatable talent, Elliot had initially failed to realise the overt act of insubordination taking place, until he did. And without a word, he yanked his digits from Olivia’s possession, a bruising slap reigning terror as it sought to deny her of the pleasure she had mindlessly allowed herself. 

Elliot had resigned himself to his infatuation, raking his burning gaze over Olivia’s ravishing form, pausing to admire her perfect breasts and the way her thighs pursed themselves together in agonising desperation. It was only then that he came to know the extent of his own appetite, his erection throbbing in his trousers, his mind poisoned with sinful thoughts and every single one revolving around Olivia.

Saliva adorned the borders of her mouth, glistening as Olivia wrangled for breath, spluttering and yet saddened by the newfound emptiness that enclosed around her. Elliot tutted in disapproval, a hand ruffling through her silky hair as if apologising for was about to ensue.

“Good girls don’t touch without permission,” Elliot ruled, Olivia’s trembling reaction suggesting more than a simple coincidence as he grabbed at her wrist and willed her arousal-covered fingers into his mouth and sucked them clean. “You’ve been a very bad girl, Captain.”

Olivia fidgeted with impatience, the muscles of her thighs contracting and relaxing noticeably as she fought to squeeze out any remnant trace of alleviation to no avail.

“Punish me, then,” Olivia offered, feigning composure, her body afflicted with itches left unscratched. “You are going to, aren’t you, Detective?”

“Yes,” Elliot acceded, firmly, his fingers working expeditiously to rid himself of his shirt, though his eyes never strayed from Olivia for even a nanosecond, engaged in a silent battle of wills. “And you’re not going to like what I have planned.”

Olivia salivated at the sight of his toned physique, ravaging him fanatically in her mind as she observed his every motion. Her gaze meandered lower at its own accord, trained on the bulging outline of his cock sheathed below his pants, her clit pulsating rapidly at the thought of it.

She did not have time to ponder further as the slackening of Elliot’s belt filled the momentary quiet, his trousers and boxers dragged to the floor in unison as she kneeled before him, gawking, mouth agape, begging for him with doe-eyes. The belt was the only thing that he did not discard of, his hands smoothing over the leather with a devious flare behind his eyes.

“Now, why don’t you be a good girl and put your hands behind your back,” Elliot instructed, his free fist wrapping itself around his cock and pumping slowly. “And make sure that they stay there, hm?”

Olivia abided, too overwhelmingly entranced by his lewd movement to care much for what he was saying and in all honesty, in this state, she would have agreed to anything at all.

Elliot resolved the proximities which separated them, towering over her kneeling frame, his hips just shy of levelling with her hungry mouth. She wanted to suck him dry, to take him to the precipice, to enlighten him with what he could have had for all these years. Conscious of bringing about any further unwanted consequences, she decided against it. Instead, she bored holes into his veiny length, watching Elliot’s face contort as he thrust into his hand with growing vigour, his cock merely a hair’s breadth from her lips and yet so far. She wanted him, needed him, but more than that, she wanted to be good for him.

“Look at you,” Elliot crooned, “desperate for my cock. That’s what you want isn’t it?”

Olivia nodded, avidly, so violently that her brain seemed to wobble around in her skull, “Yes, I need,-“

“You need to be quiet,” Elliot suggested, forcefully, his hand working overtime as he began to grunt in sporadic intervals, his hips veering closer as he stared at Olivia’s lustful visage, wholeheartedly enchanted by her.

His breath was ragged, his cheeks hued in a subtle blush as he ran his tongue across his lips, inwardly wishing that he had made a different judgement call and that Olivia’s mouth was wrapped around him instead of a tedious hand.

“Open your mouth, pretty girl,” Elliot demanded, breathlessly. “I have something you want.”

Olivia extended her tongue outwards, groaning as he smacked his cock against it before unleashing a warm rush of liquid into the depths of her throat. Elliot’s hips bucked forward, uncontrolled, as if his plan had been thrust into derailment the second he had felt Olivia’s mouth around him. And when he crashed back into reality, he was met by the captivating sight of Olivia struggling around his size, her orbs wide in bewilderment. Reluctantly, he detached himself from her.

“Fuck, Elliot,” Olivia croaked, half-choking from the aftermath of being used so ferociously. “Please, this is torture, I need to-“

“Ssshhhh, it’s okay, baby,” he reassured, his footfalls retreating until she could feel him lingering directly behind her, noting the existence of something tight encircling her wrists. “Stand up,” he ordered, though his voice appeared to be gentler than before.

Elliot ushered her to the bed in some ironic kind of perp-walk, her wrists pinned to the small of her back, manipulating her body until her stomach was flat against the mattress. From behind, Olivia’s arousal could not be refuted nor ignored, Elliot enraptured by the way it spilled outwards and painted her inner thighs. Teasingly, he dragged a finger through her dripping folds and delighted in the way her knees faltered, a breathy moan emitting from Olivia.

“Such a pretty thing,” he praised, a pair of digits circulating at her clit as Olivia burrowed her face into the pillows in a useless attempt to stifle the loudened whines that escaped from her. “So wet,” he growled, “And all for me.”

“Yes, Elliot,” Olivia mumbled, faintly, haunted by the purposeful denial that Elliot had subjected her to, the ache between her legs so arduous that she had lost confidence in her strength altogether. “Take me, Elliot, use me,” she insisted, “I’ll do anything, please.”

Olivia knew as well as he did that he lacked control on all accounts, something she had learned to manage somewhat in a professional sense. This was different, though, an instance so foreign to them that she was left uncertain of the kind of animal that was about to be released.

 “All of those times you thought you were slick,” he laughed, his fingers continuing their painstaking torture of her, occasionally slipping inside of her to keep her on the edge of something more. “All of those times I knew you were wet under your clothes, knew what you wanted from me. You thought I didn’t know, but I know you.”

Olivia fought to drag her thighs inwards, to stymie his movement and subsequently permit herself a flitting moment of peace. Instead, he sank in further, his exertions more expeditious, more intentional as her knees buckled pathetically below her.

“Elliot, please!”

 “What did you think of, Olivia?” He asked, smugly as she writhed weakly below his touch, unable to shake free of him. “All those fantasies,” he mused, taunting her as if he had known of her clandestine secrets all along, “Tell me, which one was your favourite?”

Words eluded her, unable to think cohesively or do much of anything at all. Fixed in place, Elliot’s hands roamed freely, inspecting her wetness, prodding inside of her, spanking the backs of her thighs when her knees began to jitter.

“Perhaps I should decide,” Elliot suggested, coolly, as if he was blissfully unaware of the way he had reduced his partner into a quivering mess before him. “Is that what you want?”

Olivia could only muster up a weary nod of her head in reply.

Abruptly, the sensations halted and her wrists fell free of the belt that held them hostage, Elliot forcefully flipping her onto her back with ease. He did not wait, could not bear to as he lurched forwards, his body solidly against her as he sank his cock into her.

“We’ve waited years,” Elliot reasoned, panting lightly as he quickened the pace. “I want to see your face when you cum for me.”

“Cum inside,” Olivia breathed, her voice strained, and Elliot had to squint to decipher it at first. “That was my favourite… what I thought about.”

Elliot grinned, revitalised by the admission as he pounded with reckless abandon, drowning in Olivia’s eyes, her pupils blown so wide that her irises seemed to flood with obsidian, possessing him. 

“You’re taking me so well, baby,” Elliot huffed out, “Feel so fucking good around me.”

Olivia cried out in pain-pleasure, her body rocking with every brutal  slam he delivered, his features screwed inwards as he focused on staving off the looming orgasm that threatened to take him under. But, Olivia had alternative plans for him, her pussy holding him so snugly that he didn’t ever want to leave it.

Divinity did not even begin to describe the scene below him as drank her in, devoured her whole, storing the image of her in his mind. He nuzzled into the crook of her neck, the lasting flecks of self-control ebbing away as he licked and sucked at her neck with passion unrivalled, Olivia’s fingernails pricking deeper into his skin. Admittedly, it stung, hurt like a searing blade and yet nothing seemed to compare to the pain of denying himself of her for so long.

“Close,” Olivia gasped out, her mouth agape, “I’m close.”

“Gonna take my cum like a good girl, huh?”

Olivia mewled shamelessly and Elliot hastily leaned in closer, their lips ghosting and suddenly this was more sobering that the actual act itself. It was not the union of their bodies, the coalescence of sweat and bodily fluid that tied them in this moment that scared them even a little, but the indisputable truth of what all of this meant. Elliot threw caution to the wind and met her lips, losing himself in the feisty reciprocation that she offered, her breath in his mouth, moans that he willingly swallowed.

“Cum for me, baby,” Elliot encouraged, “All for me.”

Elliot thrust slow and deep as he held her so tightly he feared he would crush her, Olivia’s nails scraping his shoulder blades with fervour, his mouth suckling a purposeful bruise into her neck.

 “Fuck,” Olivia squealed, shrill amidst the quiet. “Elliot!”

White-hot plagued Elliot’s vision for a moment and brimmed deep inside Olivia, her hands clutching at him like he was about to float away, like she was reliving one of her fantasies and Elliot was not truly there. For once, Olivia wanted to exist outside of the confinements of her mind, for once, she did not have to dream of him or hope for him.

Erratic breaths filled the space, Elliot’s sweltering body pressed to Olivia’s, unified, together at last. He kissed along her neck, the protruding bone of her clavicle, anywhere he could reach as Olivia slowly came to.

Elliot rolled to settle at her side, his hand smoothing across Olivia’s bare stomach as he studied her in adoration. She was magnificent like this, fucked out, dishevelled, though Olivia could not gather the courage to greet his loving gaze. The shame and guilt surged in, the words she wished to utter continuing to fizzle the instant she opened her mouth to speak them. But she could shroud her feelings from him anymore, not now, not after this. 

“I love you, Elliot,” Olivia whispered, her voice quaking with reticence. “I’m sorry,” she shook her head, willing away everything in her that told her to be quiet. “I’m sorry, but I do. And I know with the circumstances it’s probably not what you want to hear right now but…”

 “I love you, too.”

Olivia twisted instantly, searching his expression for a flicker of doubt. “What?”

“Circumstances change, Liv,” Elliot shrugged, “There was never going to be a right time to say it, but I’m glad that you did. And you know…” he paused, sighing. “I was going to leave Kathy, I’d been planning it for a while but then she… well, you know.”

Elliot softly captured Olivia’s lips, drawing back to plant one on her nose thereafter.

“I love you,” he repeated, a smile appearing. “I… think I always have.”

Disbelief rendered her silent, eyes trained on the ceiling as she exhaled slowly. In that moment, Elliot’s attention was stolen by a noticeable red mark etched into her neck, one that he must have accidentally left behind earlier, one that seemed to be darkening by the second.

“You’re at the precinct tomorrow,” Elliot stated, inspiring a puzzled look from Olivia that promptly revised into apparent concern.

“What have you done, Elliot?” Olivia interrogated, pushing herself up onto her elbows and narrowing her eyes, worried more by the little grin that he now donned.

“I may have left you a present,” Elliot admitted, coyly, “And it may be right… there.”

He prodded the little bruise and Olivia clambered to her feet with her sights set on the mirror. She craned to the side, her neck elongated, Elliot observing as her eyes grew round, wide.

“Oh, you are in so much trouble, Detective.”

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[scoobysnakz]

heyy girl i think if u haven’t what abt u write a dbf miguel x reader ik i see so many but theyre so gd to read they get me so invested every time🤷🏽‍♀️

summary: you’ve just come home from college for christmas but there’s a stranger in your bedroom

a/n: dbf as in dads best friend or dad boy friend? 😭 i’d do either but for this i’ll do dads best friend bc… yh. also tysm for the request it means sm 😚😚😚 also I guess this is a fic now? Bc I kinda hate one shots bci can never cut down on lore and stuff.

❤️

You hadn’t realised how easily college had managed to seep its way into every aspect of your life, pulling you away from both your family and social life, until you came home for Christmas.

Everyone looks so different, your mum is more colourful and chirpy, your father is healthier and your brother is surprisingly mature. But what takes you most by surprise is the lack of silence that has taken them by storm. When you had come home for the summer most of your stay had been filled with an uncomfortable but unfortunately familiar silence following you around but now, you can’t shut them up.

The entirety of the drive home from the train station is full of chatter, and for once they include you. They seem so genuinely invested about you that you don't even question the randomness of their questions, ranging from the journey home and the local shops that surround your campus.

“I heard that there's one of those pretentious, hipster coffee places nearby,” your dad claims from the driver's seat, not bothering to look around at you.

“Vegan?” you offer dryly, unsure of it he knows you work there or not.

“That's it!” he clicks proudly, resulting in both you and your brother sharing a sigh.

Part of you hopes that it’s because of you; that maybe they realised how much they loved you while you were gone and now feel overjoyed at your return. There’s a feeling of doubt floating around in your mind, telling you that this is just a random occurrence, but you push it to the side, wanting to focus on the positive and unrealistic.

***

Your brother helps you lug your suitcase into the house claiming, ‘It’s the least I can do’ which is surreal coming from someone who hasn’t written to you the entirety of your time away. You hand him your antler clifton all the same, glad you didn't have to carry it across the drive as well as up the stairs.

The warmth from the house welcomes you in, the softness of the heated air a stark difference from the harsh bitterness from outside. The sweet smell of cinnamon and gingerbread candles lures you in so soothingly that you don't even notice the extra pair of shoes neatly paired together with the rest by the front door.

“I'll leave it here,” your brother mutters before sliding across the floorboards towards the living room on the heels of his feet- not as mature as you presumed. You smile half-heartedly with a small nod, jealous of how easily he can dismiss himself.

And suddenly you’re alone again, left to your own devices as your parents go start dinner and your brother now yelling into his mic from the living room. It hurts slightly, moments ago they were all over you, so invested in you and your life that you forgot what they're truly like. It's the way it always been and you're a fool for thinking otherwise.

You scold yourself for being so naive as to believe that they'd changed, that they weren't as self-absorbed as they used to be, before pulling yourself away from your sea of negative thoughts.

You stare at your suitcase, bright white light shining on it from the lamp hanging above your head, and decide to leave it there, too tired to carry it upstairs to your room.

The steps creak under your weight as you slouch up the stairs, one hand idly dragging across the chipped bannister. You can't count how many times your dad’s tried to repaint it, how much money he's spent on overpriced glosses and varnishes, how many hours he's spent sanding the thing down.

As you cross the landing, thick carpet dampening the sound of your steps, you the bathroom door left ajar and the soft heat emanating from it. Which is… weird because both your parents and your brother are downstairs. But you shrug it off, too fed up to care, and drag yourself over to your bedroom, head drooping downwards with fatigue.

Casually, you push your door open, expecting the room to be empty and your bed freshly made as it often is when you come home for the holidays. Except it isn't.

Soft jazz music hums throughout the room, playing from a speaker you can't quite place, and the smell of an intoxicatingly strong aftershave clings to the air. Your walls are still decorated with the wallpaper you had when you left but it's covered in various posters. Some are boring and presumably scientific based on the array of symbols, whereas others are insanely niche but you don't really put too much effort into trying to understand them- you're too distracted by the man standing in the middle of your room, half naked and dripping with water.

He's tall, intimidatingly so, but the soft dimples that form in his cheeks as he smiles down at you soothe your nerves- slightly.

“Hey,” he grins down at you, head now cocked to the side and pats his ear causing water droplets to drip onto your carpeted floor.

You blink at him, completely dumbstruck and unsure of what to do. “What the fuck?” you breathe shakily, palms clamming up as your brain desperately flickers between arousal and fear.

The man’s brow furrows at your anxious tone and his smile falters slightly. “I think I should be the one cursing here,” he jests, tone annoyingly light, “you’ve just walked into my room without knocking or anything.”

“You're room?” you scoff, arms folding across your chest. “You're the stranger here, not me.”

He grins at your attitude, those dimples presenting themselves again. “I’m offended, has it been that long since you've last seen me?” he questions, large hand splayed across his chest feigning offence.

You pause for a moment and let your gaze scan him for a moment. He looks familiar, dark slicked back hair and mahogany eyes that are simultaneously scrutinizing and sympathetic.

“A la mierda, querida, have you really forgotten me?” he teases.

And then it clicks. You feel so embarrassed now, for not recognising him. Miguel, your dad’s best friend who you haven't seen for years, is finally visiting again.

He does look different now, though. He's still tall and his face is as chiselled as ever, though there are creases in his skin from when he's smiled too often or squinted too hard at the sun, but he's bulked up a considerable amount. His biceps look bigger than your thighs, tensing and relaxing with every slight movement and shining with the shower water in the yellow light of the evening sun. In fact, his entire body is covered in muscles, and what you can see of his lower half is toned, covered in dark tufts of hair, yes, but the curvature of each muscle is still visible.

He clears his throat and you realise that you’ve been staring longer than intended, shame burning hot on your neck.

“Sorry,” you mutter, “about not recognising you.”

He shrugs off your apology, which irks you slightly but you push past it, and smile once again. “I look different, old age is catching up on me.”

That's definitely what's different.

> next

[ladylooch]

You, Me, and Mexico [Lucie x Connor] - Part 2

A/N: The conclusion of Mexico and the true formation of Lucie and Connor as we know them now. This is spicy and sassy and hectic like our two young lovers were. I am in love with this. I hope you are too 🥹

Word Count: 7.8k

Lucie has never heard a pack of National Hockey League players so quiet before. 

But she also hasn’t seen them this hungover either. 

Their Mexico Allstar break is proving to be the ultimate competitor for these rowdy and untamed boys. Even Lio is no match for the lime, tequila, and hot sand. The only one who seems relatively unscathed this morning is Connor who sits on his chaise two down from her, reading.

Between Lucie and Connor, Lio’s muffled snores vibrate the towel beneath his face. To his left, Lucie holds her Kindle up with one arm. She swipes her thumb across the page, willing herself to get lost in a Texas ranch fantasy, but finding it difficult with how swelteringly hot the sun is on her body. She glances down at her calves, frowning at the pink patches beginning to shine through. 

Damn her dad and his pastey genes.

All she wanted was to come back from Mexico bronzed and gorgeous, but her Swiss heritage has something snarky to say about her every attempt at collecting the sun’s rays.

Lucie glances over at Lio who is more Swiss than her, gloriously tanned from all angles without a hint of sunburn on him. 

Hmmm, maybe it’s not the Swiss in her. Maybe it’s the American?

As casually as Lucie can muster, her brown eyes trail beyond her cousin to his All-American roommate. The one who two nights ago seemingly changed the trajectory of their trip, then disappeared into the night again like whatever that was didn’t happen. At least this time she had a beach full of witnesses to know it wasn’t all a dream. Lucie purses her lips ash the thought, letting her gaze trail along the strong muscles on Connor’s body. 

He sits shirtless to Lio’s left, navy swim trunks hugging all the right places. They bunch up at his mid-thigh, barely holding together over his thick quads. One of his feet is planted on the chaise, knee bent at an angle so his fingers can dangle off his leg. This makes his thighs look even bigger, almost like tree trunks. Lucie’s head lulls slightly to the side involuntarily, remembering those beneath her own when she straddled his lap the other evening. 

A dangerously hot thought on an already hot day. 

Frustration tightens the back of her throat, remembering how long it’s been since she’s been touched. Or at least was until Connor lit her skin on fire then ran away without finishing the job. 

Chicken. 

As understanding as she was that night, her annoyance and frustration is all that appears today.

Lucie slides her sunglasses-covered gaze away, trying to focus back on her Kindle again. But then, she can sense Connor’s movement out of the corner of her eye and her eyes instantly drift again. Connor flips the page in his book, pinching and tugging his bottom lip as he dips his face further into the spine. He is wearing an old Rockies hat that has his dark curls going crazy around the edges from the humidity and swimming earlier. 

Lucie watches as Connor blinks, bringing his gaze to the pool in front of them where a few kids splash in the water. Then his gaze goes right back to the worn pages in his fingers. Lucie wonders if he has read this book a few times or if it’s his first time. 

She wishes she didn’t feel too awkward to ask. 

Like a bitter cycle she knows too well, Connor has been avoiding her since their run in on their first night. Other than the longing glance across the table or the hesitant goodnights they say to each other, he is dodging her like she crossed an invisible boundary again. Her only solace is that any woman who comes up to him, and there have been plenty, is turned away quickly or blatantly ignored. It gives Lucie hope. Like maybe he is waiting for her to make the next move.

A bead of sweat drips down Lucie’s spine from her hair. She sighs, slapping her Kindle down and grabbing the teal scrunchie from her wrist. She tosses her hair up into a bun then stands. Her bright pink bikini bottoms back are tugged back into place, sitting more appropriately on her hip bones. She stretches her arms, making her breasts pull tight against her chest. Connor glances over at her, then quickly looks away when their eyes meet. Lucie sighs, rolling her eyes and announcing to no one in particular that she’s going into the pool.

“Don’t drown.” Lio mumbles to her without opening his eyes.

Lucie tosses her sunglasses onto her white towel, then steps towards the edge of the pool. The stairs are on the other side, but a ledge running along the sides makes it easier to enter from anywhere. She glides into the cool, crystal water, instantly sagging in relief at the chilling sensation on her skin. She seeps in further, sinking down until her shoulders skim beneath the water, then back up, happy the breeze off the ocean seems to be picking up. She kicks across to the other side of the pool, then sneaks a glance back over to her group.

A corner of her mouth tilts up when she notices how hard Connor is focusing on his book now. His eyes do not float away, even as other noises call for his attention. A group of people walk by, but again Connor stares hard with his nose in his book. Lucie giggles to herself, realizing that she hasn’t seen Connor turn the page much since they got to the pool and she shrugged off her cover up. 

To test her theory, Lucie flicks water up with her foot, seeing if she can get droplets close to their group. The droplets fall just to the edge of the pool, so she goes closer, trying again. She is right in front of Connor, tempting him, pushing herself further out of the water so her bikini top rises into the air, showing two distinct points in the front. 

Connor’s gaze stays on the book like they’re glued, but he shifts his legs around, pulling the opposite foot up and letting the other one down. His tongue runs along his top teeth, strong jaw zig zagging to both sides like it’s bothering him. 

Lucie floats to her back, careful to keep her hair out of the water. Her legs drift back up to the top of the water then she flicks again, grinning when she watches the streak of water wet the concrete then disappear onto Connor’s chaise. His blue eyes fly up as the droplets hit his foot. Lucie can feel his eyes everywhere. They’re generous and starved, roaming all over her exposed skin before he cocks his head to the side at her. 

“Accident.” She shrugs innocently.

“Mhm.” She faintly hears him grumble. She sucks her cheeks in, making her dimples pierce further into her cheeks. Then with his eyes still on her, she flicks again, bigger this time, laughing at his deeper frown. His eyebrows pull together, looking dark and menacing beneath the shade of his hat. But there is no mistaking the look of desire that swirls over his face.

Lucie swings her foot down as Connor goes back to his book. She flicks again, this time getting a big splash on his ankle that makes Lucie snort in surprise. Between his knees, she can see the sparkle of droplets on his phone. Oops. 

Connor snaps his book shut, standing up. In one motion, he’s heading towards her, whipping his hat off and jumping into the pool. Lucie squeals in surprise as his splash slaps her in the face. She barely has time to wipe her eyes before Connor’s arms swoop under her waist, lifting her easily into his arms. She immediately feels his hard erection against her. 

Lucie gasps at that and the proximity of his lips to hers. She glances quickly towards the rest of their group. All of them are still asleep on their chaises, Lio included.

“Hi.” She says to him.

“Hi.” He responds quietly, almost subdued as he drinks her in. His grip on her waist shifts as his hands skim down to her ass. He rolls her hips into his, making Lucie inhale heavily through her nose. “You wanted attention?” He murmurs. Lucie laughs. 

“I need some every day. It’s a disease.” She bats her lashes at him. He smiles genuinely, laughing while running his hands from her butt to the backs of her thighs. His thumbs swipe across the top of her skin, making her core tingle. “And you’ve been avoiding me again.” She points out bluntly.

“I’m not...it’s just.. Lio.” He shrugs.

“Lio has been drunk, high or getting laid the entire time we have been here.” Lucie rolls her eyes at his favorite excuse.

“Yeah but that’s his norm, so it’s not like he doesn’t see the way I can’t stop staring at your ass.” Lucie’s cheeks turn pink, warming under the knowledge of him looking at her, soaking her in like she wants him to. She brings her fingers up his biceps, threading them around his neck. 

“You like what you see?”

“You know I do. Plus, I’ve got you all figured out, Lucie Hischier.”

“That makes one of us.” She drawls back. Her fingers glide through his hair as she takes another peek at the group. Still clear. She leans forward, on the opposite side of his neck then runs her tongue from the dip of his collar bone to his ear lobe. 

“I want you, Lucie. I wasn’t lying about that the other night.” His voice is liquified with need, edgy but smooth, almost a groan when she sucks his skin into her mouth for a moment. 

“What’s so bad about here?”

“You deserve better.” He murmurs, gripping her face gently in his wet palm. 

Better? How could anywhere else be better? Lucie can still feel his hearty grip on her ass as he ground her into his cock the other night. That felt pretty damn good to her, Mexico or not. 

“I don’t understand you.” Lucie groans. “You may be the only man, a hockey player to boot, who won’t fuck the willing girl in his arms.” 

Connor’s eyes darken at the dirty slip of her words. 

“You’d like that wouldn’t you, baby?” There is an edge to him now, a dark one that Lucie wants to explore further. 

“Yes.” She snaps tightly, pressing her breasts into his chest more.

“Would like it if I slipped this bikini to the side and took you right here? Hm? Made you be quiet while I sink my cock deep into your wet pussy?” His voice is low and gruff as his eye roam over her face, watching every flicker of pleasure melt her brown eyes into liquid chocolate. 

“Mhm.” She whines through her bitten lip. 

“I could do it, Luc. I could fuck you here without anyone knowing.” Goosebumps thread down her limbs as she looks into his eyes. Lucie becomes lighter in his arms, looser as she tries to drop her hips to roll against his erection again. He leans in close. Lucie doesn’t care enough to look over at their group again. This is it, she thinks. He’s finally going to-

“AH!!!!” She screams suddenly, feeling herself being propelled through the air. Then she’s sucking in water from her open mouth. The water pulls her under, swirling around in white bubbles as she forces herself back up to the surface. She gasps, shoving the loose hairs from her bun off her face. 

Through her saltwater haze, Lucie glares at the retreating back of Connor Wood. She gapes at the group of laughing NHL players, all now wide awake at once, including her cousin who is sitting up, choking from laughing so hard.

“Woody, you got her so good.” Lio bellows. 

Rivers of water run down Connor’s hairy legs as his feet lead him back to his chaise lounge. His white teeth dazzle against his tanned skin and his blue eyes softly glisten. Quickly, he sends an apologetic look her way. All the heat that had been building between them has vanished for Lucie. One minute he’s whispering dirty thoughts in her ear and the next he is chucking her across the pool to get away from her? Who’s the one playing games now? She already had months of groveling and running after a man who didn’t deserve her. She was young then, didn’t know better like she does now. She is not doing it again. She is not going to continuously run after this guy, especially after he has turned her down twice. 

Connor is right in that way; she does deserve better.

“My little sister could have thrown me farther than that.” Lucie chirps when she gets back to her chair. Lio tosses her towel to her, assessing her as she wipes off. 

“You good?” Lio asks her. Lucie scoffs, snatching her cover up off the chaise.

“Yeah, but I’m done for the day.” She hastily tosses her stuff into her pool bag. “I’ll see you guys for dinner.” She calls breezily over her shoulder as she pulls her cover up back over her right shoulder. 

“Lucie, I’m- I’m sorry.” Connor says, folding his towel over his waist as she walks by. Lucie cuts a glare his way as she continues towards the exit of the pool area. “Luc? They were looking. I had to do something.” He mumbles to her. Lucie balks at that, scoffing. She whips around so fast her bag slaps against her butt.

“This is, like, a game to you, isn’t it?” Connor’s eyes dart nervously to the side then he shakes his head no. She steps closer, licking her lips and lowering her voice so it’s only between them. “I’m nobody’s secret, Connor.”

Then she twirls back around and leaves him staring at her perfect ass sashay away from him.

 - - -

Connor should have known better than to poke at Lucie this afternoon. The only thing it taught her was how damn easy it is to get his attention. So when the idea of hitting another beach party was floated at dinner, it was Lucie who immediately jumped at it. She happily put up with all their jokes and pokes about her wet t-shirt entry from earlier in the week. Because she knows exactly what her game plan is tonight.

Use any willing male on the beach to show Connor Wood exactly what he is missing.

He thinks he can play games and be aloof and then also cockblock her from anyone else the rest of this trip? Fine. Then he can watch her work a room and get him in a drunken jealous tizzy before it ends with her walking away from him. 

Her target was Javi, the local bartender who’s shift ended an hour ago. She batted her lashes and let her dress dip dangerously low over her cleavage until he agreed to stay. All he had to do was change and then he joined her on the beach, hand slipped into hers. Lucie didn’t have to know where Connor was to feel his gaze following them. But Lio’s loud shout and wave pointed out where they were a while ago. Lucie just doesn’t care enough to go join them. Instead, she is savoring Javi’s hands on her. She loves the way he flirts with red zones while staying firmly in the yellow spots on her body. It makes her feel sexy, restoring the confidence that Connor literally drowned in the pool this afternoon.

It’s not until Javi is pulled into a work emergency off the clock that Lucie saunters back towards her group. She is exhausted and parched from dancing, but feels free and gorgeous. Not even Connor’s glower can take that away from her. His thick brows squiggle over his blue eyes, waves crashing in them like the inky ocean hitting the beach to her right. Lucie smiles at him easily, a little wickedness seeping into her cheeks like her dimples. 

“Having fun?” Connor asks, licking his top teeth after a long pull from his Modelo. 

“Tons of it.” She answers breezily, then leans down to grab her watered down margarita. She takes a sip from the lime green straw, then tosses it back down on the table when its completely drained. “I think I’ll go have another round of that.” She flirts at him, running her fingers through her brown hair that has curled up nicely in the humidity.

Before Lucie can even take a step, her fingers are collected in Connor’s and he pulls her back into his chest.

“Stay here, Princess. I’m not running across the beach to save you again.”

“Aww, but last time it was so Baywatch.” She pulls away from him, stepping to leave the group again. “I’m fine, cowboy. Stay here and keep moping if that's how you want to spend your night.” Lucie can feel more than hear his growl as he wraps his arm around her stomach, pulling her firmer to his chest. She resists letting her shoulder droop into his body, but notices he is rock hard. He shifts her so his bulge settles perfectly between her rounded cheeks that taunted him earlier at the pool.

“Lucie. You take one more step and I’m going to throw you over my shoulder.”

“Yeah, then what?” She snaps. “You gonna throw me into the ocean over there to drown me out of your mind, Woody?” He says nothing, but his chest swells and deflates rapidly into Lucie’s back. She rolls her eyes, then bucks her hips back so he lets her go completely. She turns around, setting her hard glare on him. “Quit with the games. Make it worth my time or leave me alone.” He continues to watch her, blue gaze steely yet wild. His untamed curls blow in the beach breeze, shirt flapping open more to expose his tanned and toned chest. He is freakishly still. Lucie scoffs, waving at him over her shoulder to go back to Javi. 

Suddenly, her knees are taken out from under her. She squeaks, then is flipped to her stomach over his shoulder, looking down at Connor’s ass and the worn boardwalk. Connor’s flip flops slap against the bottoms of his feet with each step. Lucie struggles in his grasp. He tightens his grip on her thighs then calls back to her.

“Don’t make me tie you up to keep you still.” 

“Everyone is watching you haul me away!” Lucie shrieks, looking at the group of hockey players laughing. Lio, drunk and high, lifts his hand and wave. Lucie lifts her middle finger back at him.

“Get your teammate!” She yells at Lio. He yells something back that Lucie can’t hear. “Connor, put me down.” She directs back to the man under her thighs.

“No. I was clear with you. You took one more step.”

Lucie hangs quietly over his shoulder for the duration of the walk to the elevator. It’s a waste of her breath to continue complaining, no one is going to save her. Once they get to the bank of elevators, Connor puts her feet back on the ground.

“I can run faster than you. Don’t even try.” He warns. Lucie rolls her eyes. What does he have to be mad about?

The walk down to her room is equally quiet as he waits for her to fish her card out of her back pocket. She doesn’t, standing there with a glare on her face and arms crossed across her chest.

“Open the damn door, Lucie.” He hisses at her. She scoffs, stepping back. He reaches for her, then glides his hand down her back to her ass, puling out the white card and swiping it quickly. He shoves her through the door. 

“You have some damn nerv-”

The rest of the word is cut off by Connor’s frantic kiss. He grips her body, twirling them both so he slams her up against the closed door. Nothing about it is gentle or nice. It’s angry and punishing just like his thigh grinding between her legs. Lucie moans, getting turned on by the hard press of him to the apex of her thighs. 

“Fuck.” He growls, letting his hands roam her body. He grips her breasts tightly, then dives back in to kiss her hard. Her head bounces on the door as he makes out with her, stretching her mouth open to accommodate his hurried pace. 

“You have some damn nerve dancing with that guy all night.” He finally says to her, pulling back to look into her face.

“Why do you care? There were a hundred women on that beach you could have instead.”

“Why are you acting like I actually would want anyone here who isn’t you?” He laughs like something about this is funny.

“Because your signals are all over the place, Connor! One minute you’re moaning in my ear and the next you’re throwing me across the fucking pool.”

Connor crowds her up against the door, pinning her there easily with one thigh. His hands dash through her hair as he leans down.

“I should make it clear to you huh? Take your right here against the door.” 

“See like that. Why are you all over the place?”

“Because this is a bad idea, Luc. So fucking bad.” He whispers on her mouth, swiping his lips across hers with each word. Lucie opens her eyes, taking in his long lashes kissing together as he tries to hold back from taking her. Goosebumps pimple along her limbs as she tangles her fingers in his curls. “Because once I have you, I’m not going to want to stop. Ever.”

“Please?” She asks. “I’ll be worth it. I promise.”

All his resolve breaks. 

“You ask so sweetly.” He moans. “Innocent. Like you don’t know what you do to me. But you do, don’t you?” He kisses down her jaw, leading to her throat. “Know how much I want you. You know I can’t breathe when you walk into the room. Too distracted with how beautiful you are.” His words muffle into her skin but Lucie hears them clearly. She's drunker on them than tequila could ever make her.

“I want you to have me.” She whispers into his ear, then sucks his ear lobe into her mouth. His forehead drops to her shoulder briefly. 

“I wanna taste you.” He says. Lucie’s eyes widen in alarm and he picks up on it. “Those Swiss boys don’t eat pussy do they?” He kisses her lips. She blushes, then drops his gaze. He chuckles, taking her chin in two fingers. “You gonna get shy on me now?”

“You don’t have to.” She says quietly. Connor laughs, genuinely, shaking her breasts against his chest as he starts to kiss down her neck. 

“I’m gonna change your whole world, baby.” 

It feels like an out of body experience to Lucie as she watches him kiss down her body. He gets to her shorts, tugging them down to expose her yellow, lace panties. He peels those off more delicately, kissing everywhere he uncovers. Her eyes flutter shut as he kisses at the crest of her pussy lips, letting his tongue tease the slit for a moment before he pulls her underwear all the way off. Once they collect around her feet, his blue eyes go to her glistening core. 

Between them, Lucie’s breasts shudder as she gulps in air. With his eyes on hers, he leans forward. His tongue falls out of his mouth then strikes up her already soaked slit. Lucie’s head finds the door, smacking against it as her eyes screw shut. 

“Um.” She starts to speak, then loses her train of thought. “Oh.” She hears herself moan. 

He pulls away, then bring his hands up to her core, crudely pulling her puffy lips apart with his thumb and pointer finger. He looks drunk when their gazes meet, then he holds hers as he goes in for his next taste. Lucie’s eyes squeeze shut as his lips engulf her clit, giving her pulsating sucks and then a long lick of his tongue. 

“Fuck.” She growls then inhales, moaning out her exhale as he presses his mouth in more. 

No, Lucie Hischier has never had her pussy eaten before, but she can’t imagine the boys before Connor could have done it like this. He knows his way around the female anatomy. Maybe that should bother Lucie, but right now, all she can care about is getting her fingers into his curls to hold him in place. 

“Talk to me, Luc.” He says. Nothing about it is a beg. It’s a demand. Like if she doesn’t comply, this whole illusion of a dream will rupture. 

“Feels… mmm, amazing.” She sighs.

His lips collect her clit again, almost nipping it into his mouth. Her knees shake, threatening collapse as her hand falls from his hair to his shoulder. Connor leans forward, collecting her calf over his shoulder, then putting a steadying hand on her other thigh to hold her upright.

“Ah, oh, oh, oh oh, ohhhhh.” Lucie squirms against his mouth as he eats her like a dripping summer popsicle in the thick of summer. “Ohmygod.” She chokes out. Her core clenches uncomfortably tight. Her hand dashes into her own hair as her head ricochets off the door again.

“That’s it, Luc. Tell me how good it feels.” He snakes his tongue back to her entrance, lazily fucking her with his tongue before going back to her clit to finish her off. 

“So fucking good, Connor. Please, Please. Please. Please. Don’t-“ Lucie can only pant the rest of the way up to her high. Her bottom jaw unhinges as she whispers out a final moan of Connor’s name then collapses over the edge. Her thighs go ridged. The leg over this shoulder clamps around his neck to hold him to her pussy as she grinds into his face while she finishes.

“Fuck, baby.” Connor moans, coming out of her folds for air. His tongue snakes out, doing one last slurp up her slit. She shakes in response and Connor grips her hips to keep her upright. He untangles himself from her legs, then kisses his way back up her body to her mouth. “You wanna taste what I do to you?” He asks her. Lucie's response is to latch her lips to his. He tastes sweet and tangy, like her and the beer he had earlier.

“My turn.” She demands, biting at his bottom lip, then sinking her knees into the soft carpeting at their feet. Connor hesitates, almost looking like he is going to say no, but then she cups his hard cock over his shorts and he grunts like that alone might make him come. 

Hurriedly, Lucie undoes his shorts. Maybe another night she would tease him, but not when he is constantly on either side of the line, tip toeing over just to throw himself back to the safe side. No, tonight, she wants a taste. 

Pushing down the waistband of his bottoms, Lucie watches with excited, dewy eyes as he springs free. His firm length slaps against his abdomen, leaving a bead of pre-cum there. Her eyes fixate on it, then she moves her tongue to collect the white circle. Connor’s hand goes into her hair, gathering it all in his fist. Lucie kisses around the right side of his shaft, teasing him by ghosting her lips over the ridge of his head. She continues down the left side, then goes right for the kill, sucking a testicle into her mouth. Connor rocks back on his heels for a minute before he coughs.

“Aw fuck. You know how to suck cock don’t you, Princess?”

Lucie doesn’t respond with words. Instead she kisses back up his shaft to collect only his head into her mouth. She sucks, watching him squirm at the sensitivity, then she breaks eye contact to take him fully down in one drop of her head. Connor’s hand on her hair squeezes so tight it hurts. It fuels Lucie further, bobbing her wide, wet mouth up and down. The room fills with his cock meeting her stretched mouth. Drool drops down Connor’s shaft, collecting on Lucie’s hand as it strokes up, forcing the velvet skin to meet her mouth with each thrust. 

“Oh.” Connor groans. Then moans her name loudly, so loud that anyone walking by in the hallway would surely hear it. Heat flutters in her core, igniting again at how expressive he is. With each pump of her hand and mouth, Connor praises her. He begs her to keep going. He compliments her mouth and hand. He brings the hand not in her hair to her throat, feeling her deep thrust him down. 

“Do that again and I’m gonna cum in your mouth.” He growls through mashed teeth.

So Lucie does, then guzzles down the white ropes that shoot in a desperate release from him.

“Holy…”

Connor frees her from his hands, dashing them through his wild curls as he looks down at her. Lucie comes off his cock, settling her thighs back on her bare heels. He watches her through half-mast lids, observing as she licks her lips then wipes her chin with the back of her hand. He blinks, rolling his eyes towards the ceiling as his mouth drops open in awe. Then he reaches down, pulling her back onto her feet in one swoop. Lucie peers at him with shy eyes, suddenly feeling self-conscious at the way he is looking at her. 

“I’m never gonna be able to forget how good you are at that.” He admits. Lucie smiles, cheeks turning slightly red at the compliment.

“You want to?”

“No. It’s just gonna make it hard to do things like have you over at our place for dinner, or play hockey, or sleep.” Lucie chuckles, dropping her forehead to his chest. He takes the opportunity to wrap her in his arms. She runs her hands up his big back, breathing in the scent of him as she does. Connor’s mouth comes to rest on her hair. 

Lucie tries to fight the yawn tugging at her mouth, but she can’t. It comes out unwelcome, like the buzzkill it is. Connor squeezes her tighter, then releases. He reaches between them, tucking his softened form back into his shorts. Lucie steps back, swallowing, before looking up at him with curious brown eyes. 

“I don’t wanna go.” He answers honestly. “But I should.” 

“Don’t.” Lucie whispers, being brave and asking for what she wants.

“Okay.” He nods, giving in instantly. “How do you sleep?” He gestures to her body.

“With pajamas.” She chuckles, then walks across the room to grab them. Connor follows her, taking them from her hands. Together, they work her night clothes off. Connor’s eyes linger and his hands wander to her breasts and ass, giving generous squeezes and strokes to them. Lucie’s skin is on fire as he kisses her on the mouth, thumbing her nipples after getting her fully ready for bed.

It isn’t long before they fall into bed together, feet to each other’s heads, having a quick midnight snack of each other’s sex again. The spoken desire of Connor to not go all the way in Mexico is held like a promise between the two of them. 

After another orgasm for them both, Connor pulls on his boxer briefs and replaces Lucie’s pajama bottoms. Then he collects her to his chest, fastening his nose into her hair. 

As Lucie falls asleep on his body, she silently prays that the cycle has been broken. That the game is officially over and they both came out winners. She hopes when they go home tomorrow, time moves forward with more moments like this with him.

If it doesn’t, this game might finally end with Lucie firmly in the loser’s column. 

- - -

Lucie’s eyes burn as she waits at baggage claim with Lio and Connor after their flight landed late in NYC. Lio is hungover, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. Connor stands still, feet spread wide apart, saying nothing. Lucie glances at him. The last good look she got of him was his retreating back leaving her room this morning.

On the flight home, Lio sat in Lucie’s row. Connor sat behind them and seemingly slept the whole flight. Truthfully it was hard for Lucie to see him, which is why she drinks him in now before they go to their separate neighborhoods. He looks so good again today- comfortable and cozy. Lucie knows now how homey and safe that chest feels after waking up on it this morning. She wants to curl into it tonight instead of her cold, lonely dorm bed. 

“That yours?” Lio asks of the pink suitcase twirling around the metal slats. Before Lucie can answer, Connor steps forward and grabs it for her. His bag is right after hers. Then Lio’s comes through a couple more twirls later. They all silently head towards ground transportation to find a few cabs. 

When they get to the curb, Lio hails one down for her immediately. He pops the back door open for her as Connor wheels hers and his bags behind the trunk. Lucie looks at him over the trunk of the car. There is a slight smirk on his face and a sparkle in his eye that wasn’t there before. He puts her suitcase in first then his next to it. 

“Bye, Lee.” Lucie says, distractedly. She gives him a hug. “I’ll see you… when I do.” She shrugs, knowing now that the Allstar break is done, the difficult stretch of the season will begin. 

“Yeah, I’ll text ya. Hopefully you can come to one of the games this weekend. Back to back Friday and Saturday.”

“I can Saturday for sure.”

“Cool, I’ll send tickets. You want two?”

“Yeah, I might bring a friend.” She confirms. 

“Sounds good.” Lio steps aside, then glances over at Connor. “What are you doing?” 

“I’m going to ride into the city with Lucie. I’m seeing a friend.” 

“I shouldn’t expect you home?” Lio smirks.

“Ah, I don’t know. I’ll let you know. But first, I’ll get Lucie back safely.” 

“Sounds good. See you.” Lio murmurs, then rolls his bag down to the next cab. Lucie slowly slides into the backseat of the cab with Connor going in the other side.

The first few turns out of the airport are silent. Lucie’s mouth suddenly feels dry. All the teasing and pleasure they had in Mexico was wonderful, but never going the whole way with him has left her with a greedy ache between her thighs. The thought of him finally soothing that ache tonight has spikes of pleasure shooting through her body. 

“Am I the friend?” Lucie wonders as the cab merges onto the road outside the airport. Connor reaches over, grabbing her hand off the seat next to her thigh. He laces their fingers together, kissing along her knuckles. She melts into his touch, reaching for his thigh with her other hand. 

“Yes. I need you. More than I’ve had you. I can’t wait anymore. We are back home and I want you as soon as possible.” 

“My roommate…”

“Plenty of time for her to leave if you text her now. Or I can tell her to get lost when we get there.” Lucie giggles at his directness.

Rather than argue, Lucie texts Daniella that she needs the room. She receives an immediate thumbs up then the bubbles continue to pulse on her screen.

Please tell me you’re finally getting Connor in your bed. I’ll be at Dre’s for the night.

Lucie’s eyes widen and she clicks her phone screen to dark, hoping Connor didn’t see that. 

“We good?”

“Yeah.”

Connor gives her an assuring smile, then sets their laced hands on his left thigh. The rest of the drive is quiet. Connor plays with her fingers. Lucie leans her head on the back of the seat, closing her eyes and feeling the bumps and shake of the car as reassurance that this is real. Every so often, she opens her eyes to see Connor looking at her in the dark cab. As they crawl the last few blocks, he rubs her cheek with his thumb. He leans across the back seat kissing her longingly.

When they get to her place, Connor pays the fair and tip, then grabs their suitcases out of the car. He follows Lucie’s lead to her dorm. His nose comes to the back of her neck as she puts the key into her door. His lips plump in a kiss that has her hands shaking while she flips the lock. She leans back into his body, feeling the bulge of him pushing into her butt. His free hand wraps around her, pressing into her stomach to keep her close as they walk step to step into her room. The door shuts behind them. Lucie swallows hard, wheeling her bag over towards the closet. She kicks her shoes off, then turns to look at Connor. 

“Gonna tell you right now that this won’t be enough.” He murmurs. “I’m going to need you time and time again. I’m already insatiable when it comes to you, Lucie Hischier.”

His long strides carry him quickly across the room to her. He holds her cheeks in his hands, stroking along the bones below her eyes. His blue eyes swim with desire as he looks down into her face. She watches as his lips fall towards hers. She collects them on hers, inhaling heavily at how good it feels. Her arms instinctively wrap around his shoulders. His come to her lower back, respectfully pulling her in as close as he can. 

“Do you.. have a condom?” She asks.

“Yeah, that’s why I had to bring my bag with.”

“Did you bring those to Mexico for me?”

“Yeah.” He admits. “But I am serious. I didn’t want it to be like that. In a resort… like it was some vacation fling.” He shakes his head. “This has never been a game to me. I’m sorry if ever made it seem like I didn’t want you. You’re all I want, Lucie.” 

“You said it wasn’t good enough for what we are going to be. So tell me, what are we going to be?” She whispers, running her hands down his shoulders to grip his biceps.

“Everything.” He says confidently. “It’s the only thing worth risking this for.” Lucie smiles, then nods before Connor kisses her again. 

He steps forward, gently guiding her hips back towards her bed. Lucie grips his upper body tightly as he carefully lays her on the comforter. Their lips suck each other up like it’s been days apart when it’s been mere hours since they touched last. They’re addicts for each other. Lucie understands what Connor means when he says insatiable. She feels it too. Everything about his touch and presence lights her soul on fire. 

Connor pulls away, reaching for the hem of her NYU sweatshirt. He lifts it up over her head, exposing her bralette below. He smiles at her perky nipples teasing him like they did days ago through her wet t-shirt. He cups under her right breast then brings his mouth down to it while maintaining eye contact with her. Lucie bites her bottom lip, savoring the sparks of pleasure that shoot down to her clit from his hearty suck. He pulls the bralette to the side completely, then continues his play.

He moves on to the other nipple, painting it with his saliva before releasing it with a loud pop. Between her legs, Lucie pulses painfully. Her walls collapse inwards, convulsing angrily around nothing. Connor pulls his sweatshirt and t-shirt off, then walks over to his suitcase. He unzips the front pocket, pulling out an unopened box of condoms. Lucie watches as he brings the whole thing over, setting it on the nightstand. Then he gathers Lucie in for another kiss. 

“Connor?” Lucie mumbles against him.

“Hmm.”

“We have waited long enough to have each other this way.” She points out. “Suit up.” He grins, chuckling too as he reaches for her sweatpants. He pulls them off in one swoop, taking her panties as well. He makes quick work of his remaining clothes too. After, he spreads her legs wide so his eyes can feast on her slick, puffy folds. He strokes his cock in his hand, sighing when Lucie drags her fingers over her slick flesh to tease him. 

“You are so damn sexy.” He drawls, then reaches for the box of condoms. He opens them quickly, fumbling with getting only one foil wrapper out. They all explode out of the box at once, creating condom confetti. One lands on Lucie’s stomach.

“This one has been chosen.” She picks it up, handing it to him.

Connor smiles, ripping the gold open with his teeth. He spits out the top, then rolls the latex down his thick shaft. He maneuvers Lucie back on the bed, kneeling between her spread legs. He tests her hole carefully with one finger, then two. Lucie clamps around them instantly, making Connor close his eyes in pleasure. When he opens them, his pupils are blown so wide they shine black. 

He leans down, kissing her again while edging the head of his cock through her folds. He collects her wetness, teasing them both until he perches right at her entrance and pushes in. The first stitch of pain makes Lucie clam up. She resists digging her nails into his shoulders. 

“ S’okay.” He reminds her quietly. He brings his thumb down to her clit, rolling it delicately. Then he pushes in a little further, keeping a stroking pattern going on her sensitive bud. 

“Ohm-mygod.” Lucie stutters as he fills her fully. His attention on her clit has wetness forcing from her like a wave. Her pussy clamps around him, sending her eyes to her brain for a moment. “Fuck that feels full.”

“You’re so tight.” He agrees. “Gonna give you a second.”

He leans down, sucking up her left nipple, rolling it tight between his lips. Connor’s lips never stray from hers long. They may wander down and curve over here or there, but they crave hers too intently to be gone long. 

“You’re so beautiful.” He mumbles into their kiss. “Can’t believe the prettiest girl on the beach is here with me.” Lucie smiles, giggling happily as she accepts the complement. His sweet touches and words have the stitches of discomfort dissipating to nothing. She hooks her ankles together on his ass, giving him a limit for how much she wants him to pull out. “You like it deep, baby?” Lucie nods. “Mmm, I’ll give you what you need. I’ll learn you fast, Luc. Promise.” He mumbles into her mouth. He gives her another peck, then pulls up and away to adjust the angle. Lucie quivers as he begins to press deeper into her. 

“Oh.” She moans, stretching out so her back can curve slightly. Connor grips her breast, looking down at her with hazy eyes. He lick his lips, beginning to pant as his speed goes harder. The clunky wood bed frame rattles against the wall, but neither of them can find the grip on reality to care. All that exists is the places their bodies are conjoining together. 

“Damn, you feel so good. So worth the wait for this.” Connor groans. “So perfect, Luc.” 

Lucie begins to pant. Her vision blurs as she breathes hard and fast, feeling the building of her orgasm deep in her core. It twists and pulls and grows ravenous for release with each stroke of his big cock inside of her. She is dripping down her swollen lips and his tight shaft. It collects on his balls where he can feel it without obstruction, making him chase for more.

“Fuck.” He growls down at her as they both feel that first pull of her orgasm. “That’s it, pretty girl. Come for me. Please.” He begs her. Lucie’s never had a partner who’s begged for her to come. His hands grip her hips greedily, pressing into her hip bones as he keeps the perfect tempo and angle for her. Lucie’s head flies back, eyes closed, back arching up off the bed. Connor catches her body, holding her there as she quakes against his sticky skin.

“Holy fucking- fuuuuuuck.” Connor drawls out into her neck. Her muscles contract around the latex again, savoring the feeling of his fullness in her tight hole. 

“Ohmygod.” Lucie chokes out, her fingers dash through his hair as he collapses forward, spent from the ribbons of cum he left in the latex. 

“God damn.” He groans, doing micro pumps into her to prolong both of their orgasms. He stops when he’s too sensitive to continue. 

Lucie collects him on her chest like a prized possession. Her arms tighten around him, lips dropping on his cheek where his head is buried in the pillow beside her. He turns his head, chasing her lips on his as if he hasn’t had enough of her yet. His hand cups her cheek, thumb stroking over the pink he put on her skin. His nose runs down her mouth and chin, letting his forehead hit her mouth instead. Lucie can’t help but smile. She’s never felt this complete and connected after sex before. 

“Is your roommate coming back?” Connor eventually wonders, pulling slowly out of her. 

“No, she went to her boyfriend’s.”

“So we have the room to ourselves?”

“Yeah.” She smiles. “But we should put clothes on. Just incase.”

“Okay.” He kisses her forehead, then helps her get up.

They both change back into their clothes, then Connor holds the covers up for Lucie to slide into. Her dorm bed is entirely two small for two people let alone one who is a professional athlete.  But it keeps them close so neither of them mind. Connor encourages Lucie to turn over to be little spoon. She tucks her butt into his lap, then curls her knees up, wiggling back into him. He holds her hips steady, giving them a squeeze as a warning.

“Didn’t realize you were a one and done kinda guy…” She trails off. He moves his arm down so his hand can cup her right breast. He pinches her nipple, making Lucie squeeze her thighs together. 

“Only on days I have long flights.” He mumbles, kissing the back of her neck. “Remember that for road trips.”

Lucie’s heart skips a beat, thinking about him coming home to her after being on the road. She wants that. Badly. 

But for now, she will settle for this- his warmth heating up her back, limbs tangled with hers and soft breathing synchronized with the same pulls of air as her. 

Lucie closes her eyes quickly. She feels so safe and comforted in Connor’s warm embrace. 

She couldn’t fight it much longer if she tried.

[khaotunq]

🎃🦇TRICK OR TREAT🕷️👻

Have a scene -- waaay more than a couple of paragraphs buuut -- from an unpublished fic that'll probably never otherwise see the light of day because it's an alternate Ray-meets-Boeing scene.

*

Sand blinked down at the hand on his, raised his eyes to Boeing's. Sand had loved them, once. Had also been broken by them, once. The moment someone with better prospects—less integrity but far more money—had come along.

  Sand opened his mouth to reply, to tell Boeing thanks but no thanks, when a familiar weight dropped against him, making Sand's stomach fall through the floor.

  "Sand," Ray said with forced cheer. "Who's this?"

  Sand didn't reply for a second. They hadn't spoken in days. Ray had disappeared to god-knew-where and Sand had spent the whole time feeling the loss like a knife under his ribs.

  "Boeing," Boeing said, smiling the way he did when he felt like he was winning. "And you are?"

  Before Ray could say anything, before he could even respond to Boeing's name, Sand grabbed him and shoved him off the chair, pushing up and steering him away without ever letting go of his arm. He didn't stop until they were in an unoccupied hallway.

  "You're with someone?"

  Whether Ray had heard Boeing say so or if he was assuming Sand was with Boeing, Sand couldn't tell, but that didn't matter. "Do not offer a threesome."

  That caught Ray off guard. He blinked several times, brow creasing in a little frown and it was so offensively cute that Sand almost lost his train of thought. "Ray. I know that's your usual play, but don't. Not with Boeing."

  Ray glanced back in Boeing's direction and then up at Sand, his mind turning over. He got this awful expression after a moment and Sand realised he hadn't figured out the angle Sand was protesting from when he said, soft and barely audible over the music, "You're with someone."

  "No, I mean--he'll say yes." Ray looked sad and Sand panicked because how was he not getting this? "He'll say yes and you'll have to share."

  Just in case, a moment later he added: "Me. Ray, you'll have to share me. With him. And I don't want you to."

  Ray gazed at him and Sand could tell when it clicked because his eyes widened and his chin snapped up, gaze searching Sand's face.

  And then he smiled.

  Sand's heart nearly fell out of his chest, the way it always did when Ray looked at him like that. It made him feel like the only man on earth, the way a good crowd made him feel electric when he was on stage.

  "You're with me?"

  Sand resisted the urge to shake him. "I have been. This whole time, I have been."

  Ray's eyes were bright and for the first time, Sand realised they were a regular kind of bright. His cheeks weren't flushed with drink. He was steady and warm and completely sober. In a bar.

  Further contemplation was cut off by Ray leaning up to kiss him. He tasted like tea, of all things. His hands curled in Sand's t-shirt and he melted when Sand's folded around his hips and tugged him closer.

  "Wait—Boeing? Your ex?"

  Sand rolled his eyes but he knew he was smiling. It felt the least like swallowing glass than it ever had when he shrugged and said, "The one who left me for Top, yeah."

  "Talk about a downgrade."

  Sand breathed out a laugh because he didn't care. For the first time in who knew how long, he really didn't care. Thinking about Boeing and Top and Boeing-and-Top inspired no anger, no bitterness anymore. He didn't know if it was because of Ray, because of everything he'd been through with and for Ray, a gradual shifting of his priorities he hadn't noticed until that moment.

  "He has more to offer than I do." Sand only said it to get the response he hoped for, not because he truly felt in any way inadequate.

  Ray obliged. "Not at all," he said, tracing his hands up and down Sand's back. "I heard your mom. You're secretly loaded."

  Sand shoved him. Ray's tone was playful, joking, and so there was no need to waste energy denying it. "I knew it. You're only with me for my money."

  There was a very, very slight pause where they both tried to figure out if they were okay joking about that already. Ray settled back against him. "Well, that and your work ethic."

  Sand lifted an eyebrow and Ray had a particular look on his face that told him he wasn't talking about any of Sand's actual jobs.

[finn-m-corvex]

Whumptober 2023 Day 15 - Makeshift Bandages

FINAL ONE OF THE BATCH! Congrats folks, if you've read every single one of these you have officially read 30k words worth of my work in a matter of hours. If you want to be included in the taglist for the next batch please let me know so I can put you on the list!

@splinnters final tag until the next batch because I already know you're going to want to be there!

Words: 2.1k

Jay felt it as soon as he tried to move his leg.

It took everything in him to not scream as the wooden plank shifted, and he grit his teeth when he pushed himself up on his elbows. There was unfamiliar sand piled under him; it must’ve been what cushioned their fall from the sky.

Where were they, exactly?

He spit out a mouthful of sand, finally turning back to see what was wrong with his leg.

And had to quickly look away because the sight almost made him sick.

“Gotta fix it, Jay,” he said to himself, steeling his nerves and looking again. He saw the plank that was pinning the limb in place, noticing that it was one of the destroyed Bounty’s floorboards. With shaking hands, he reached out to grab the end of it, his back twinging in protest and the cuts on his arms stinging. It took a firm yank to dislodge it, and this time he couldn’t contain a small scream as the wood left large splinters behind, buried in his skin.

Definitely wasn’t the worst injury his leg had ever suffered, but damn it was up there.

With another pull, his leg was technically free, and Jay took a proper look at it. It was scraped to high heaven, leaking fresh blood onto the sand and staining it a dark brown. There were large patches of skin missing, and Jay could feel every grain of sand settle itself into the injury, almost like they were burrowing into his muscles. He felt nauseous watching the exposed muscles flex when he tried to move it, and suddenly his vision was tunneling and his air supply was running out as his chest turned inside out.

Oh, he could not afford to start panicking right now.

“Guys!” he shouted, leaning against one of the ship walls that he happened to land near. He hated the way his voice cracked, but there was nothing he could do. “Guys! Anybody?!”

Now that he was paying attention he could feel all of the scrapes along his chest, his back ripped open like he was dragged along a cheese grater. Somehow his gi was almost completely intact despite the damage to his body, and Jay would be lying if he said he wasn’t at least a little bitter about the fact that his clothing seemed to be more durable than him.

“Jay?” he heard Kai yell, but as soon as he tried to answer back his leg twitched hard; it felt like someone had lit it on fire. Instead of calling out Jay screamed, hand going to clutch at his leg in desperation for the pain to stop.

That was a bad idea. Jay’s head was swimming, and he swayed dangerously from the bolt of pain shooting up from his calf where his hand had landed. The feeling of blood coating his hand was far too familiar in the worst of ways, and Jay hurried to pull it back and scrub it on his gi.

Except it wasn’t coming off.

Why wasn’t it coming off?!

“Cole, Zane, I found him!” Kai shouted, rocketing around the corner of the wall. He slipped on the sand, stumbling, catching himself and paling as he took in Jay’s condition. “Shit, holy shit. Get some bandages! We got a man down!”

He would’ve laughed if he had the oxygen. Why were Kai’s zingers always so terrible?

Kneeling down next to the blue ninja, Kai looked him over, and Jay could feel his warm hands ghosting up and down his back as he tried to guage how injured Jay was. “Jay, Jay can you talk to me? Say something, please, I gotta know if you hit your head or not.”

Jay clumsily nodded his head, shutting his eyes and trying to control his dizziness. Panic threatened to overtake him, but he kept running. The world needed to stop spinning before he did anything else. “You got water?”

Looking relieved, Kai pushed some of his curls out of his face. “Yeah, yeah I think we found some. It’s on the way.”

“I know I hit my head,” Jay said, reaching up with a shaky hand to massage his sore jaw. It clicked softly, but the pressure rocked Jay’s vision like it was on a ratchet joint. “But I dunno how hard.”

“I’ll check for a bump,” and Kai did just that, running a single hand over Jay’s scalp. He didn’t find anything, but he was startled when Jay threw his own hand away from his face. Jay’s face lost its color, breathing turning stuttery as the blood ran down his cheek where his hand had been pressed against his skin.

There was blood on his face.

His blood on his face.

“Kai,” Jay said breathlessly, groping around and latching into the fire ninja’s knee, “Kai-”

But Kai already knew what he was going to say. He took a corner of his red gi and wiped Jay’s face as gently as he could, making soft shushing noises as Jay whimpered. “I got it, Jay, don’t worry.”

Zane finally showed his face around the corner, and the nindroid’s look of alarm only made Jay even dizzier. “What happened?” he demanded, sinking down in the sand next to Kai. He started analyzing the debris stacked around the three of them, and Jay cried out when Zane tried to move one of the large pieces of metal his leg happened to be leaning on.

The cry attracted Cole, who was hauling a large and mostly intact crate filled with various bits and bobs that Jay could not be bothered to identify right now. “Jay!” his best friend cried, dropping the crate and rushing to Kai’s side. Jay should’ve been relieved to see all of his brothers alive and well, but there was only the impending feeling of vomit coming up his throat as he watched his leg glisten with fresh blood. Anxiety tended to have that effect when left unattended.

“Move,” he gasped, shoving Kai to the side, “move-”

And not even a second later and he was emptying his guts into the sand, watching it turn from a fine gold to a disgusting mustard. Kai thumped his back, and Jay could hear garbled words from Zane even if he didn’t know what the nindroid was saying. Too much effort.

“-find bandages. We cannot leave his leg like this,” Zane said firmly.

“Yeah, no shit Sherlock,” Jay spat out another glob of gross body stuff, Kai being the only thing holding him up after the red ninja had moved to sit behind his back. “Hurts like a bitch, though.”

“I bet,” Cole said sympathetically, face pallid from looking at Jay’s injury for too long. “At least you still have it.”

“Did you want me to lose it?!”

“No! I’m just saying it could be worse!”

“If his leg becomes infected,” Zane popped in, “and gets any worse, then we may have to consider amputation. Jay could still very well lose his leg.”

“What I’m going to lose is my fucking lunch if you keep talking about cutting my leg off,” because for as brave of a face as Jay was putting on, the idea of amputation terrified him. He was sure that they would build him a prosthetic, but would he still be able to be a ninja? Could he still save people? Would he even be able to work properly? Amputation and anxiety were not a good mix, what a no-brainer.

Kai snorted. “I think you already lost it, bro.”

“Amputation is the last possible option,” Zane assured, patting Jay’s uninjured knee and squeezing lightly. “Cole, did we find anything that can work as a bandage?”

The earth ninja started rummaging through the crate, looking for any sort of anything that they could patch Jay up with, but Jay was suddenly tilting to the side as his vision went topsy-turvy, and Kai was the only thing keeping him from dropping like a stone into the vomit-soaked sand.

Blood loss, his brain supplied helpfully, and Jay groaned from the dizziness that overwhelmed him. Everything was moving in circles, and he barely recognized Kai snapping his fingers right in front of his face. He was trying to get Jay’s attention.

“Shit,” Kai muttered from behind him after seeing how unresponsive the blue ninja was, and he thought quickly. “Zane, give me your sleeve.”

“What?”

“Just trust me,” Kai reached for his own gi sleeve, tearing it off at the seams. He quickly ripped the sleeve open so that it was completely flat, and while normally Kai would’ve done anything to keep his gi intact this situation was an emergency. Zane mirrored his actions on his own sleeve and handed it to Kai, who quickly tied them together. Jay’s head thunked against his chest, and Kai started panicking upon seeing his brother’s closed eyes.

He shook Jay harshly, eliciting a pained groan. “Jay, stay awake. We need to keep an eye on you.”

Frowning, Jay squinted up at Kai’s face. “I am awake, just dizzy. I don’t want to see everything spinning.”

Kai startled when Cole took the makeshift bandages out of his hands, adding his own black piece to the mix. Cole didn’t have sleeves, but he still tore off a large chunk from the strap over his shoulder, letting the front of his gi fall down and expose a couple scratches across his chest; they were nothing compared to Jay’s wound.

Handing it over to Zane, Cole reached for Jay’s limp hand, lacing their fingers together. “Squeeze if you need to, Sparky. This is gonna hurt.”

“Huh? What’s gonna- '' Jay didn’t finish his sentence before he screamed, and Kai was suddenly very hyperaware of the fact that they were in the open. They didn’t know what was in this realm, dangerous or otherwise, and they were sitting ducks with Jay downed like this. Any sort of sound alerting others to their weakness needed to be shut down.

Fumbling around, Kai’s hand eventually closed around a good-sized stick, and he hastily shoved it into Jay’s mouth and told him to bite down on it. Jay whined but did as he was told, strangling the life out of Cole’s hand while Zane wrapped his leg as quickly as he could. It was one of the longest five minutes of Kai’s life, watching as his little brother squirmed and sobbed and knowing that there was nothing he could do to make it better.

“Where’s Wu?” Kai asked as Zane finished, tying the makeshift bandage off with a tight knot and checking it over once more. Cole reached up to take the stick out of Jay’s mouth, grimacing at the splinters that it left behind and the drool leaking down his chin. He wiped away the drool and Jay’s tears as gently as he could.

Zane kept rubbing Jay’s knee to try and comfort him. “He is safe, don’t worry. Cole and I left him in the shelter.”

“Should we try to move Jay to the shelter?” Kai asked, smoothing his hands over his smaller brother’s sides and kissing the back of his head. Jay’s hair was covered in sand but Kai didn’t care; his brother needed the comfort.

“Give him a minute,” Cole said quietly, noticing the way Jay’s chest was heaving, sweat dripping down his brow and the collar of his shirt. He tugged out all of the splinters that he could find, aided by Zane, until there were none left that he could see. Kai kept Jay still, rocking them back and forth as gently as he could.

They heard a roar in the distance, and Kai’s grip tightened out of fear. “We need to move. Cole, get him up, but be careful.”

He and Zane kept a careful watch while Cole took Jay from Kai, debating the best way to carry the blue ninja to safety. Eventually deciding on just a simple carry, he hooked his arm under Jay’s back and the other under his knees, lifting. Jay’s head flopped onto Cole’s shoulder, and Cole could feel his brother’s eyelashes against his skin as his eyes blinked open.

“We’re going somewhere?” he mumbled, hand latching onto Cole’s shirt out of pure instinct.

“Yeah, bud. There’s a shelter nearby that we’re taking you to,” Cole said, starting the brisk walk across the desert sands to the Bounty’s cabin where they had left little Wu, “so just work with me, okay? It’ll be over soon.”

“Okay,” Jay said, and Cole could tell that he was trying to be quiet despite every movement of his leg eliciting a small whimper; it wasn’t long before Jay had his buried in the crook of Cole’s neck, and Cole did his best to ignore the blood leaking through the makeshift bandages and onto the sand below. 

He just hoped that dragons or Oni or whatever else lived in this realm couldn’t smell the blood to track them.

[casitafallz]

Pariah AU | A small spark of warmth  P2|  Smut  (18+ only)

Julieta lay curled up on the bed, the tears long since gone and the lingering bitterness sat in the back of her throat and she hated having it. She didn’t want bitterness to be part of her. That wasn’t who she was… she was supposed to be a healer.

She was supposed to fix other people…like she always had done. That had been her life for the last 45 years so why couldn’t she fix her family? Why couldn’t she fix herself?

“She’s here.” The voice was low, dim in the background but she barely listened until she heard the door creak.

“Mi amor?” Agustín’s voice echoed in the small space before she felt the bed shift as his weight dipped into it. “I heard what happened…”

Julieta sniffled softly, burying her face further into the pillows. His warm hand touched at her side, curling around her before she felt him tug, pulling her back and into his chest.

“I’m sorry that happened to you.”

Julieta said and did nothing; what could she say? Now everyone knew and… now she was once again at the brunt of it.

Judgement.

It was agonizing to be in the centre. Suffocating and overwhelming… and lonely.

Julieta knew she could handle it from the family. She knew that was part of the work… but from the Encanto too... she felt like an outsider. Unwelcome. As if all her work in the past 45 years was simply a note at the bottom of a page.

Worthless.

It was terrifyingly easy to feel the void pull her down… and she had very few people to keep her head above that water.

She needed her husband…needed her daughters. At least now she had one of those things. Someone who could make her feel a little less broken.

“Are they right?” She mumbled softly.

“No.” He spoke firmly into her ear, “and don’t let them tell you otherwise. You’re a good person, a loving mother and bigger heart than most.”

Julieta desperately wanted to believe that. She just couldn’t shake the doubt. “Nothing I do is making things better… I don’t know what to do.” She whispered, her voice shaking.

Agustín’s breath tickled at her skin before she felt him shift. “Abuela will set them straight.. or Bruno, I think he’s investing in pocket-sand at Mirabel’s suggestion.”

The dim reminder made her nose wrinkle; of course she knew Bruno knew the difficulties of the town; she had done her best back to defend him in their youth and since his return, he was back in the good books. Was this how he felt all the time? Why he never left his room? To hide away to avoid the negative attention?

Julieta wiggled around, wrapping her arms around him.

“I’m sorry I got us kicked out of the Rios’s home.” Her voice muffled

“Screw them.” He whispered, “We should have come straight here.”

Julieta’s eyes closed, resting her forehead against his chest. Outside their room, she could hear soft talking of Agustín’s parents before there was a soft knock at the door.

“Agustín, me and your mother are going to find Alma, let her know where you’ll be staying.”

Agustín sighed softly. “Si, Gracias. But Julieta’s not up for any visitors, aside our daughters.”

“Okay.” There was a long moment before they heard the door shut and steps that echoed away, leaving them both alone in Agustín’s parents home. It felt odd. But she could feel Agustín was relaxed; not that she expected less, this was his childhood home when his family had moved here. This was home.

“How long do you think until Casita is rebuilt?”

Agustín hummed thoughtfully, “At this rate… I’d say a nine weeks if we include furnishings; the foundations have set.”

Julieta nodded. Just over two months. It sounded so far away but… Casita was not a small building; it needed firm foundations to stand a fresh 50 or so years. They had to take their time to make sure; she didn’t want to lose it by poor building infrastructure. Abuela wouldn’t allow for sloppy work.

“You know, my papi works with the local carpenter. If you don’t want to go near Casita or stray too far, you could help pick out our room furnishings that’ll need to be built?”

Julieta’s head rolled back, an eyebrow raising. “What If I pick something you don’t like?”

“then I’m sure we’ll have a fun debate for either or, and we’ll decide to keep it and see if it fits…and ultimately, it’ll stay and I’ll learn to appreciate my wife’s taste in aesthetics.”

Julieta’s lip twitched softly, a finger prodding him in the chest.

“You miss your piano, don’t you?”

“Replaceable.” He lent down, his lips pressing against her forehead. “Just… please can we not have a kitchen in the bed room again?”

Julieta snorted, burying her laugher into his chest though her smile vanished a little because… it’d just be a normal house. No magic. No need to worry about a room designed around her gift. Now she had none.

“Hey, Mi amor…” Agustín’s finger caught Julieta’s chin, shifting her head up. “You’re okay. Do you really want a kitchen up there?”

Julieta shook her head, her hand moving to trace along his chest. “It’ll be weird but… there’s no point to have that when I won’t have my gift. Short-cut to comforting eating and my waist-band will not enjoy me in the long run.”

Agustín’s eyes remained soft. “It’ll be okay.”

Julieta let out a short exhale. “I’m exhausted…this whole situation is…so draining.”

His arms tightened around her, pulling her in before a hand began to stroke down her back. “We’ll get through it.”

Julieta’s head rolled back to look at him. “How can you be sure?”

Agustín’s head tilted, his hand pausing before he lay back. “You love this family and they love you. Unconditional. Anger, grief and pain, it muddies the water but ultimately, the only way forwards is…as a family.”

“Like…when you came back to me?” She asked quietly, her throat tightening because…she damn well remembered how that was like.

Agustín nodded. “It…took a long while to understand. Longer than I’d like to admit because I never thought you’d purposely do something like that… but when I started to look at our other two daughters for the first few weeks afterwards, how Abuela seemed to act and then I realised that they needed us both to support them. I never stopped loving you, Julieta. But… I knew when the truth would come out, you’d need me. I know my reaction; I could only anticipate that on mass would be…hard.”

Julieta’s eyes welled up as he spoke, biting down onto her lip but she knew what he was implicating. This wasn’t the first time she had low-days but she knew she masked a lot; she wasn’t supposed to make her family worry. She didn’t let them know when those days hit. She wasn’t…at the bottom yet but she wasn’t going to be free of it any time soon. If she hadn’t had Agustín, she was sure she wouldn’t have gotten out of bed this morning.

“Thank you.”

Agustín nodded softly though he lent down though she didn’t hesitate to kiss back, far too used to the slight tickle of his moustache to care but she felt the underlying feelings of need rise through her; she needed him. His closeness, affection, his love… him.

Her hand brushed to his cheek, her other hand knotting into his waistcoat, pulling his weight towards her. His arms shifted, a hand coming to press against the mattress in surprise; keeping himself balanced above her.

He pulled back sharply and breathlessly, “Juli?”

“I need you…” She whispered, finger tips brushing up to his hair, “I need more than just words.”

He winked his nose to push his glasses up before he leant back, a hand coming to his buttons only for her to stop him, keeping him in place with the grip on his waistcoat.

“No. Keep it all on.” She didn’t know how long her in-laws would be away; they could be gone a while or soon; and she didn’t want the humiliation to be caught bare-ass naked in their guest room with her husband.

“Let me get comfortable,” He tugged himself free of her grip despite her whine, his hand undoing the his buttons, opening his tie and before she knew it, her skirt was pushed up; his fingers finding the rim of her bloomers before she lifted her hips, allowing him to tug them down and she watched him toss them off the side of the bed.

In a moment, her lips were claimed again and this time, she felt the spark of fire return through her veins as he pushed her into the pillows, a hand pulling her leg around his waist before she clocked that his pants were still very much sealed.

Her fingers tugged at his belt, though he let her work for it to her own frustration to open it then his pants and she didn’t hesitate to get a firm grip around his length and pull him free.

Agustín groaned against her lips, pulling back but delved his face into her neck. His hand coming down to touch her, slipping into her folds.

She was not overly wet but his touch made her groan that turned into a muffled gasp as he thumbed over her clit, working her well with the soft kisses and nibbles into her throat and soon enough, she was sopping with need, his hand holding her hips down but it took everything to remember the grip she had on him to edge him on.

Julieta let out a breathy grin as he bit into her shoulder as she stroked him, feeling how his body seemed to writhe at her touch until she felt his hand grip at her wrist suddenly, his head pulling hack, cheeks flushed and pupils blown wide.

“Too much.” He whispered.

Julieta’s lips curled up into a smirk, “then it’s been far too long.” She wouldn’t open that gate since the last time they had had sex, not now…

His grip shifted, pushing her thighs open before she felt him push into her, both of them letting out a collective sound, her blood feeling like fire as it pulsed thumping through her veins, her eyes fluttering shut, cutting out the world to the heat and pleasure that only seemed to grow and light through her body.

A part of her wanted to roll them around, to sit and claim her husband with fire and need as she wanted; to feel in control of the situation in any way possible…

Agustín was quick to set a brisk pace, a soft hiss forcing him to not try and hitch her leg too high to get deeper; her flexibility wasn’t what it used to be. Her nails bit into his shoulders, her head rolling back with a muffled moan.

Agustín’s teeth returned to her throat, her head spinning as the heat grew, her face flushing with heat, her pulse in her ears, the tensions coiling in her…

“almost..” the words almost soundless on her lips.

The only loud sounds was the wet thumps, the creak of the bed and their hushed sounds trying not to seep through closed shutters.

Agustín’s pace seemed to waver but she clench her walls around him, hearing a guttural, groan before he thrust particularly hard that seemed to trigger the tensions within her to snap suddenly and unexpectedly; her mouth falling open, her eyes rolling as her mind was washed with white warmth, spinning with pleasure before Agustín grunted heavily, burying himself into her before he came hard.

Both lost in their world, her legs trembling around him, cheeks flushed red with a small sheen of sweat, panting for breath…

It left Julieta basking in the afterglow; not wanting the warmth to fade or the feel of him leaving her empty; his weight a comfort, like a shield between her and the world…

“Juli..”

Her eyes snapped hazily open, smiling up to Agustín though her warm bubble was popped as he pulled back, hastily shoving himself into his pants and she felt like she was on another world  as he rose to his feet, pulling her shirt down and shoved her fallen bloomers under the pillow…

Then she heard why which was quick to pull her back to reality.

“Agustín?”

Julieta closed her legs sharply, rolling back onto her side to how she had been before, wiping her face onto her sleeve as Agustín opened the shutters enough to let the wind in.

His hands tucked his belt in just before the door cracked open.

“I’ve talked to Alma. She’ll have a talk with the Rios family later today once todays work is done. But you know we’re happy to keep you here if they suddenly decide to change their minds, Hijo.”

“Thank you.” Agustín spoke quickly, barely able to mask the shake in his voice before he coughed, clearing himself a little “I don’t think moving back will do us any favours.” His hand came to her arm, her hand reached over, her breath uneven but she sniffled softly.

“Please, they probably only took you in the look good to the Encanto. Now they look real bad.” Senora Rojas said in a tone that suggested that the talk she had given to her mother had been very public.

“Now, clean up, open those shutters wider and I’m glad you two waited until after we were gone. Dinner in two hours and I expect you both to be there.”

“Mama…”

“I raised you, Hijo. You can’t fool me.”

With that the door shut and Julieta wasn’t sure if she was blushing out of embarrassment or amusement.

[hircines-hunter]

WIP Wednesday

Tagged by @wildhexe thanks <3 <3

I'm supposed to be working on my Sifkni story, but inspiration hit me for my OC/ OC pair, Finnki and J'Med (who are in the same world state as Sifkni). So I will show a preview of that. I'll be working on both things at once probably. I have a lot of feels for these two. I do hope you love them as much as I do.

Finnki came around the bend in the road, past a boulder. She saw an overturned carriage. A horse lay in a pool of blood. Several bodies lay on the road. An ambush. She jogged up to the scene.

Finnki checked each of the bodies for breathing. Her heart sank, until she came to the last body. A khajiit. She took note of his black fur. The white patch over the left side of his face.

She heard his faint breathing. The slow but deep rise in his chest. He had a giant gash on his abdomen. A nasty wound to heal even if it didn’t pierce his innards. But he was alive. She grabbed a health potion from her bag. She reached for the man’s mouth only for him to grab her. He had little strength in his grip.

He took gasping breaths. The pupils in his heterochromatic eyes were only slits. He could barely focus his sight on her face. “Just leave this one to die. He does not deserve to live anymore. Let him suffer as he deserves.” He rasped. He blinked a few times in vain, hoping he could see her face.

“No one deserves this kind of death.” She pushed his hand away and forced the potion into his mouth. He coughed, not expecting the bitter medicine.

“Whiterun is close.” Finnki tore off the edges of her cloak and made a makeshift bandage around his midsection. He winced when she tightened it.

The khajiit huffed and grimaced in pain. “This one cannot walk. Surely, he will die before we reach the city. Leave him. You cannot walk and carry him.”

Finnki ignored him. She took her axe and cut the reins off the horse. She pried one of the broken boards from the carriage. She made a makeshift stretcher. She grabbed a small rug and pelts of fur and placed it on top the board. She used the reins to secure the rug and fur and made a handle for her to drag it. She walked over to the khajiit. “I will not let you suffer out here. If you want to die at least wait until you make it to the temple. The healers can handle you then. But for now, you are alive and I, in good conscience, cannot leave you to die. In the cold rain and alone.” She reached under his arms and dragged him onto the board. He groaned and gasped in pain. She secured him to the board and covered him with the remainder of her cloak. “What is your name? I am Finnki. Thane of Whiterun.”

He stared at her back. He couldn’t see her face due his blurry vision. But he could tell she wasn’t a Nord. At least not a full Nord. Due to her height. A Bosmer? Her ears had a slight point. She did have the strength of a Nord. She easily dragged him and the board. He laughed. What had the divines decided to do with him? “It’s J’Med.” He finally answered. He knew it would be a mistake.

“Well, you just hang in there J’Med. I’ll get you to the city in no time. You stay awake for me. Danica and Jenssen will take care of you for me.”

He grunted in response. Why would this stranger take care of him? What would she have done if there were more survivors? Would the guards even help her once she made it to the city? He’s heard the rumors of Nord cities. Their dislike of anyone not a Nord. He mostly stuck to the wilds or small villages. It was not worth the effort to deal with them. But she said she was a Thane. She wasn’t a full blooded Nord.

“What’s your favorite song?”

He stared at her back. He was taken aback by her question. “Why do you care?”

“If I know it, it’ll bring you comfort. You can sing along. It’ll keep you awake longer. So, what’s your favorite song?”

He thought. He thought of home. The warm sands. Sweet moon sugar antelope. The bazaar was filled with music. A musician plucked on qanun. “Dancing Among the Flowers Fine.” He answered.

[zeta-in-de-walls]

Hey guys. So in MCC you might have noticed that Dream got a little salty. This was a shame for me as it’s so much nicer to watch Dream whilst he’s in a good mood. For better or worse though, he’s super competitive.

Here’s a breakdown of how the event went badly for Dream and his team. It’s pretty long...

The event starts well; Skyblockle is an interesting, if stressful game, and they do pretty well for their first time. Not perfectly though and they recognise they could do better too - Dream’s already pretty hard on himself for any mistakes he makes. But it’s purely directed at himself and how he can improve - I think it’s pretty evident he holds himself to a high standard. 

Bingo is next and he kinda doesn’t know what he’d doing and wastes some time. I feel like he notes it down too much to not knowing the game but it is pretty luck-based anyway. Also this was a really quick game as so many of the items were very easy to obtain in a very short time. Anyway, they didn’t expect to do well really and Dream’s in good spirits, looking forward to the other games. 

Then Battle box comes... and it’s extremely laggy and even glitchy. The weapon choices of Wooden axes and tnt seem honestly pretty bad just in terms of gameplay and the tnt is outright gamebreaking with the lag. Despite this, Dream’s team is doing well, having won their first 4 games and they’re keen to win more. Dream’s even instructing Sylveey to wait on the wool in order to maximise kill points (you can see he’s taking this really seriously as he could sound a little nicer as she’s certainly trying to win too). 

Anyway, the game needs to be restarted - some players killed themselves outside the rounds and that’s not exactly fair. For whatever reason, reviving them is not possible. The chosen solution is to restart the entire round which regretfully seriously inconveniences Dream’s team. He’s incensed at the perceived injustices. He feels that it would be better to push on without restarting. 

The proceeding rounds don’t go nearly as well for them as the first play through. Many teams have now realised how effective rushing strats are for this map - the axe is too slow in pvp to meaningfully stop players from quickly placing down wool and the tnt is dangerous enough to scare people from the centre. It’s a legitimate strategy but feels rather unlike the traditional battle box which is usually the closest minigame to a straightforward pvp battle. While the lag is universal, it rather this strategy which goes against purple’s playstyle which includes maximised kills. Additionally, restarting gave a lot of teams the change to realise the potential of this rather cheap strategy which they may not have with only a single round of battle box as it would have been without the lag. 

It’s not really anyone’s fault that the game messed up but Dream’s ire is now directed towards the organisers and he’s lost his good spirits. 

Buildmart comes next and it’s not exactly one of Dream’s favourite games to say the least. Still, it’s long and a nice distraction from the mess that was battle box and Dream has developed some strategy with his team, even if it didn’t really work amazingly. 

But then comes the audience takeover. Dream was really looking for parkour warrior - which he’s been really keen to play. He’s extremely fond of parkour and wanted to try out the new course - he and his whole team had practiced the old course a lot and were ready to crush the game. But it wasn’t one of the the options in the poll at all. Up to this point Parkour warrior hasn’t been an option at all and it is one the team has every reason to want to play. 

Regardless, they soon settle on Hole in the wall - a gamemode they’ve played before and enjoyed. And yeah, the system messes up. Rocket spleef, which was Technoblade’s choice, narrowly lost the poll but gets selected anyway due to faultiness from the twitter poll. Needless to say, Dream is pretty annoyed. Given how the resetted Battle box earlier, he is of the opinion that they should switch in to Hole in the Wall to accurately reflect the audience vote. What he doesn’t realise is that this isn’t possible and the situation is less similar to battle box which only reset itself, not the game choice. 

This is where Dream gets outright angry, even going as far to say he feels like quitting entirely. He feels like the tournament is working against him, which it kinda is, though it’s not in fact due to human design - just errors outside anyone’s control. That said, compounded with the mess that was Battle box earlier, Dream’s in a terrible mood, especially with his competitive nature, feeling like he’s losing due to circumstances outside his control rather than his own abilities. (When fans are saying rigged, I feel like many of them simply mean that the game’s working against him rather than that someone is actively sabotaging them (an incorrect definition...). It’s a minority that kicked up a large fuss as well, not that this excuses them or anything, or Dream for not realising the effect he’s having on his audience.)

His heart is simply not in Rocket Spleef, which seems to be a pretty tough game for newcomers to pick up anyway, while the other top teams, Orange and Green, both excel at this game mode. (And Krimson too maybe? I think I missed how they were doing in this game.) It’s a shame as he can’t allow himself to enjoy the game mode at all. It is an interesting one that he’s not amazing at but isn’t terrible at either, managing to survive longer than the rest of his team, who are all also doing lacklustre. Their performance has not been helped by everything that’s going on. 

Then there’s ace race. It’s a new game and pretty different from the standard minecraft experience. It’s the first time for everyone so there’s probably a few kinks to be worked out etc. and Dream and his team find it interesting but they don’t exactly love it. It’s very different from the standard minecraft experience. Their strongpoints are definitely vanilla minecraft and they’re not too confident with elytras. I feel like if they weren’t in a dour mood they would have enjoyed it tons more. Two elytra heavy games in a row is unfortunate. Still, this game acts as a breather. The one issue is that parkour warrior is finally on the board and so they’re very keen to play it. 

As the next decision dome comes up, Parkour warrior, Hole in the Wall, TGTTOS, Survival Games and Sands of time are all available. These are all probably Dream’s favourite games aside from Battle box (which obviously didn’t work out this tournament). Dream notes beforehand that the one game he’d really like to play is Parkour Warrior and the one he’d prefer to avoid at this stage is Sands of Time. 

So naturally, Sands of Time is chosen. He’s a bit irritated. Fortunately, Sands of Time is awesome and his team is great at it. Single player survival stuff is what they excel at after all and they all perform. They take risks, make a lot of coins, get far and are among the longest teams to stay in, coming in second overall with both Dream and Sapnap doing really well. This game proves to be what finally cures Dream and his team’s mood. The game is also worth a ton of points for some reason, putting them in with a (still small but possible) chance of making the finals. 

Last game and they really want Parkour warrior of course. Yeah, it’s not chosen. Instead we get hole in the wall. Some may joke that its good that the game finally got chosen but it’s obviously not the favoured choice for this team when Parkour warrior’s an option. Oh well though! They’re disappointed to miss out on it but they do like hole in the wall and they all have fun playing it, doing decently though not nearly well enough to do better than their rivals.

By this time they’ve regained their spirits and eagerly support Green Guardians in dodgebolt. It’s an intense match and they all thoroughly enjoy watching it, especially seeing Pete team clutch out the win after being down. 

At the end, Dream finds that despite everything he’s still somehow managed to obtain 3rd overall on the individual boards, the same as last time, and he’s really happy about it. His team are pretty happy too with Sapnap also managing to get 8th place in his very first event. 

Dream closes off the stream with an apology. You can see as it goes on how the frustration slowly melts away as he begins talking. At first still obviously still annoyed but soon confessing that he seriously overreacted and that he still loves the event and the team behind it and holds them to a very high standard. He offers kind words towards Technoblade and Pete too, noting that the rivalry is for show and he greatly respects both of them and encourages all his watchers to go and subscribe to them, helping Technoblade to hit 2mil. He notes that he’s really competitive and he really wanted it to go well - especially as its the only time he’ll be allowed to play with George and Sapnap and really wanted to win it with them. His sentiments feel real and he expresses interest in playing again while noting that he could see them also not inviting him back after his behaviour during this even and understands that. 

Overall, game choices and unfortunate circumstances worked against Dream and his team and left him in a bad mood but once it ended, he did bounce back. It’s easy to see the contrast from the last event where he was annoyed he didn’t win but blamed his own performance - not the event and not his teammates - reflecting on how he can improve and do better. (He got temporarily a little annoyed at buildmart admittedly but it was purely his fans who blew that out of proportion, he quickly reassured George that it was okay and that it wasn’t his fault.) Dream is always very determined to improve and succeed or fail due to his own skills. 

This turned into a long analysis of the event, wow. Dream’s perspective wasn’t that much fun to watch and it pains me to see how it all devolved. Let’s calm down and try not to blame the event, the other competitors or Dream too hard for any of this, okay? Things went wrong and it’s mostly outside of anyone’s control. I hope he’s in better spirits if he joins next tournament. 

[haadeswrites]

Elysium

god this fic took forever i’m so sorry!! but hey, first fic on the new blog! <33 also y’all should really thank @iwaasfairy who listened to me complain about this fic for a solid month, she’s the reason it got finished

Cult leader Oikawa Tooru x female reader

tw: indoctrination, extremely dubious consent, blood, yandere themes, religious themes, minor character death, implied abuse & drug use, mild smut, nsfw

The island itself is breathtaking

Pristine beaches with gleaming white sand, vast swathes of lush, green rainforest and waterfalls that cascade into shimmering pools of crystal clear water. Untouched, undisturbed; a paradise. At least, that’s how Ryuji had described it. 

Paradise, but only in the sense that a gingerbread cottage in the middle of the woods is paradise to a lost and hungry child. 

He hadn’t been wrong. Bare feet sink into soft, white sand as you climb from the boat - the warmth just toeing the line between pleasant and burning. Gentle waves ebb and flow behind you, and there’s a light breeze that kisses your skin, the taste of seasalt carrying in the wind. Home, it seems to sing.

A laugh sounds somewhere in the distance, yet the only other figure on the beach is a man walking steadily towards you. He smiles when he sees you’ve noticed him; friendly, non-threatening. It’s a far cry from the swarming welcoming committee you’d been dreading, and you wonder if that’s somehow intentional as well. 

As the boat pushes back out to sea he comes to a stop before you, “I’m Makki,” he says, pushing the fringe of his hair back and giving you a not-so-subtle once over. Whatever he sees must meet approval, because his grin only widens, “Welcome to the Commune.”

Ryuji wasn’t wrong; the island is a beautiful, deadly thing.

—

You’d never heard of the Commune before the phone call. 

And maybe that shouldn’t be so surprising. You’ll be the first to admit you’re hardly an expert, but from what you do know, groups like the Commune – cults – don’t spring up out of thin air and start broadcasting their mistreatment and systematic abuse. 

They’re not the kind of people that have sweet old ladies clutching their pearls and mothers shepherding their children away – at least, not in the beginning. Not entirely. They’re not out to recruit extremists to further their cause, they choose to prey on the vulnerable, the lost and the disillusioned. Those easily manipulated. You suspect that’s why when you google the Commune, all you find is a website for what essentially looks like a long term luxury wellness retreat.

‘The Commune is about healing and harmony, about returning to nature, supporting one another to forge a brighter, more holistic future together… a self-sufficient community living apart from technology and other evils of modern society.’ 

You fight the urge to roll your eyes as you scroll through. There’s a whisper of philosophical teachings woven throughout, a page dedicated to their founder, Oikawa Tooru – smiling handsomely in every single picture, because what would a burgeoning cult be without a charismatic leader – but there’s not enough.

So here you are, on an island hundreds of miles away from home living amongst strangers; because Ryuji wouldn’t have sounded so terrified if this was just some alternate, free-loving bunch of hippies.

And even with all that he’d told you, everything you thought you’d be prepared for, the Commune is like nothing you could’ve imagined. 

Makki introduces you to Asuka, a woman only a few years older than yourself, dark haired and stunningly beautiful, and winks as he tells her to take you under her wing. She smiles brightly, eyes twinkling, and pulls you into a heartfelt hug – as if you’ve known each other your whole lives.

“We’re so glad you’re here!” she beams.

You’d like to hate her. 

It feels like you're supposed to, sometimes; when she gets that dreamy look in her eyes and starts talking about Oikawa and the Commune and how lucky everyone here on the island is. Yet there’s something about her – the genuine warmth she emanates maybe, or the kindness in her eyes – that makes it difficult for you not to like her.

“You should come to the gathering tomorrow,” she hums idly one afternoon, maybe a week or so after your arrival. The two of you are sitting on the edge of the pier, legs dangling down into the water, tangled fishing nets to be repaired strewn between you.

“I always go,” you reply.

She laughs, fixing you with a knowing look, “And sit right at the very back, all but running off the moment we finish?” 

And your traitorous heart skips a beat. 

“It’s okay to take things slowly,” she says. “We understand that being a part of the Commune is a big change from the life you knew, and that not everybody is able to see what we see and embrace those changes.” 

Asuka sets down the knot she’s working through and reaches for your hand, a gentle smile on her face, “But you shouldn’t be afraid. You’re meant to be here, I can feel it. You just need to stop fighting against it; surrender yourself to us, to the island, and everything’ll make sense, I promise.”

It’s dangerous territory. One wrong word could set off alarm bells, yet you can’t help pressing just a little.

“Do you ever miss it, then? Life outside the Commune?” 

Your family. Friends. The life you left behind before you came here to be brainwashed like all of the others.

“Why would I?” she answers without missing a beat, and it’s hard to ignore the bitter flicker of disappointment you feel at her answer. “The island provides for us, we don’t have to spend our days selling off tiny pieces of ourselves just to make ends meet. It’s paradise here, and we have Oikawa to thank for that. Why would I ever want to go back?”

Silence falls between you as you struggle to think of something to say to salvage the situation. Yet Asuka isn’t even looking at you, instead staring out at the water with a strangely pensive expression. 

“Did you know I was married once?” The words seemingly out of the blue, you can only shake your head. For a moment, she doesn’t reply, watching as the waves rise and crash offshore. And then;

“I was young, eighteen or so, fresh out of high school and he was a small town cop.” Her eyes flicker to yours, and your heart clenches at the sadness and pain echoing there. “I thought he was a good man, once upon a time.”

A chord strikes deep, your chest tightening involuntarily at her words. It’s not the same, of course it’s not the same, and yet… 

No. You stop the errant thought in its tracks. Groups like the Commune prey on the vulnerable, you know this. People like Ryuji, like Asuka, like–

Her fingers squeeze around yours, pulling you back to the present. “Come to the gathering tomorrow. Listen to Oikawa, it’ll help.”

—

She doesn’t give you a choice in the matter – dragging you by the hand to sit right at the front of the gathered crowd that very night.

Oikawa’s handsomer up close; tall and dark haired with pretty eyes and long, sweeping lashes that frame delicate cheekbones, it’s not hard for you to see how a man like him has amassed such an impassioned following. 

Once he starts actually speaking, however, you realise that his good looks and charming smile are just the tip of the iceberg. Oikawa’s utterly captivating as he preaches about the cycle of life and death and the paradise that awaits his faithful. Passionate and engaging, he speaks like he truly believes every word of the lies he’s spreading. 

And Asuka, her friends, the others gathered, they eat up every word like it’s gospel truth, resounding cheers and thunderous applause deafening around you. In the midst of the rapturous din, Oikawa’s eyes flit to yours.

Slowly, he smiles – a dazzling grin that makes your stomach flip – and everything; Asuka, the noise, the others swarming around you, it all fades away.

For one electrifying heartbeat, you’re frozen in place. Just you and Oikawa, trapped in the pull of each other’s gaze.

—

You can’t forget the reason you came.

But it’s… difficult, in a way you struggle to understand. You only have one purpose for being here, one goal; find Ryuji and bring him home. 

And yet, some days it’s like there’s a fog in your mind, and you have to focus to remember why you’re here at all. You catch yourself laughing with Asuka and her friends, the days passing by in a blur of endless, easy distractions. 

It barely feels like work when you’re sitting under the shade of the trees, eating the fruits you’ve picked by hand – ripe and sweet, unlike anything you’ve ever tasted – diving off waterfalls into the crystalline water and meandering down the shore collecting seashells. Even when you are working, mending clothes or cooking with the others, it fills you with a sense of contentment you can’t quite explain. 

Like you’re a part of something bigger. Like you’re doing something that matters.

Ryuji becomes a distant thought. A whisper in the back of your head, a niggling in your gut, easily brushed aside and ignored until there’s a moment of quiet. In the dead of night, the balmy summer night’s breeze kissing your bare skin, you lie awake, lost in memories of the last time you’d seen him. 

Fists angrily pounding at your door, the yelling that gave way to sobs and the hoarse, desperate pleas that followed. Ryuji’s face; pupils blown wide and eyes rimmed in red, darting restlessly around as he held you too tight and begged–

Rolling over in bed, you gaze out your window at the star flecked sky, the shadows of the forest that lie at your doorstep, and wonder what it is that scares you more; that you’ve lost track of the days you’ve been here, and saving Ryuji is starting to feel like an afterthought, or that you could so easily forget all of it, find a place here in the Commune and be happy.

‘The island, it–it fucks with your head.’

Ryuji’d told you that, and you’d brushed it off as paranoia. You need to find him. Find him and get the hell outta dodge.

You can deal with the fallout later.

—

Kiyoshi. 

He’d mentioned the name a few times amidst his rambling – a friend of his on the island. You’re annoyed with yourself for not thinking of it sooner, however much like Ryuji himself, trying to focus and remember the name is like wading through thick mud.

Once you do, though, finding him amongst the hundred and fifty or so inhabitants is the easy part. 

There’s no strict division between genders within the Commune, however Kyoshi, despite his somewhat lean stature, is among the builders of the island and his path doesn’t often cross with yours. 

From Asuka you find out that he’s been a part of the Commune for years now, before even she joined, and that he mostly sticks to himself, though you’ve seen him chatting quietly to a few of the other men, a perpetually angry looking blonde in particular.

It’s the last part that piques her interest, “Why’re you so curious, anyway?” she asks, her face lighting up as a sudden thought occurs. “Do you want me to introduce you two? To be honest, I didn’t think he’d be your type, if you’re interested, though…”

Cheeks aflame, you’re quick to shut her down. “No, no, nothing like that. I’ve just… seen him around and we’ve never really spoken, I guess.”

A lame excuse, though mercifully she lets the subject drop without too much prodding.

Therein, of course, lies the problem. Walking up to Kyoshi and casually trying to drop Ryuji into the conversation without raising red flags is risky, but what other options do you have? You’ve already spent too much time on this island.

Although, maybe Asuka has the right idea. 

While you hadn’t been lying when you said you weren’t interested in Kyoshi in that way, nobody else knew that. Who would really look twice at the shy newbie striking up a conversation with the quiet, easygoing man? He wasn’t unattractive per se, and from the brief interactions you’d seen of him, he seemed kind enough.

You have enough patience (barely) to wait for dusk the following night. There’s a celebration, something about the full moon and a blessing on the island and the Commune– you hadn’t really been paying attention when Oikawa had spoken about it. Still, it’s too good an opportunity to pass up. With the fire pits crackling, and the dancing and music and the sweet honey wine flowing freely, nobody will be paying too much attention to what you’ll be doing. Hopefully, the alcohol will also serve to lower Kiyoshi’s guard, and perhaps if you’re really, really lucky, loosen his tongue as well. 

Of course, you’re not banking on him telling you exactly where Ryu is or what happened to him– and that’s assuming he actually knows – but at this point you’ll take anything over the nothing you currently have. A tiny slip up, that’s all you’re asking for. 

As the sun descends beyond the horizon, you play your role well, laughing and chatting amongst friends, sipping carefully at the cup of wine in your hand as you wait for an opening. And perhaps it’s your nerves working against you, but you find that it’s not just Kiyoshi your attention is drawn to. 

Up on the shore, away from the rabble, Oikawa lounges back with a cup of the same honeyed wine you’re pretending to drink. For the most part he seems deep in conversation with Iwaizumi, his right hand, but every once in a while he glances up, letting his gaze roam over the crowd of his followers.

Every inch a king and his general.

And it would seem benevolent, if not for the strange smile he wears – the one that widens when his eyes catch yours.

Swallowing tightly, you force yourself not to dwell on it, to ignore the odd sensation curling in your gut and the way your skin prickles under his attention. Now is not the time to lose focus.

Pushing all thoughts of Oikawa aside, you subtly scan the beach once more, only to find that Kiyoshi’s moved, sitting now on a piece of old driftwood near the bonfire. Alone for the first time tonight. 

Your legs are moving before the thought even fully registers. 

“Do you mind if I sit?” you ask, gesturing to the empty space on the log beside him. 

Kiyoshi smiles, the laugh lines at corners of his eyes crinkling pleasantly, and shakes his head, “Not at all.”

“Thanks.”

Taking another sip of your wine, you will your shoulders to relax, your racing pulse to slow. This has to seem natural, and so you force yourself to hold your tongue, let your head loll back and breathe deep, soaking it all in. You can hear the others in the distance, the music and the dancing, the happy laughter and shouts that beckon – you want to go join them. Even your blood seems to hum, a call of something other pulsing through your veins.

But you pay it no mind. There are more important things to worry about tonight. 

Indeed, steel blue eyes have been appraising you curiously for a while now. “This is your first Lunar blessing, isn’t it?” Kiyoshi asks after a moment.

You nod, humming in agreement. Less than a month; you’ve been here less than a month. Is that a good thing?

“Are you enjoying yourself?”

A harmless enough question, and again you nod your head. “Yeah, it’s…” you pause, searching for words that won’t sound hollow. “It’s paradise. I feel like I need to pinch myself just to make sure it’s real.”

He smiles gently. “But?” he probes.

Grimly, you wonder whether Kiyoshi’s usually this perceptive, or if you’re just a really terrible actor. In a way, you suppose it really doesn’t make a difference; you’ve come too far to turn back now – at least not without raising suspicion. 

So you lie with a truth, and pray that it works.

“I had a friend I was supposed to meet here,” you confess quietly, gazing not at him but the crackling flames of the bonfire, the burning embers carried off into the night. “He was the one who said I should come, but now I’m here and he’s not and every time I catch myself enjoying this–”

“You feel guilty,” he surmises, cutting you off. “Because he’s not here to enjoy it with you.”

Wordlessly, you nod – and maybe it isn’t so much of an act when your eyes begin to glisten, your smile wavering. 

Kiyoshi’s silent for a moment, and you take another sip of the honey wine to hide your nerves. “You shouldn’t, you know,” he says eventually. “Feel guilty, I mean. You belong here, with the Commune. You’re happy here. Paradise… isn’t for everybody.”

He doesn’t say it to be cruel, more like he’s simply stating a fact, and somehow that makes it all the more unnerving. And it’s nothing you haven’t listened to Oikawa preach about time and time again. The Commune is for the devoted, the faithful – the lucky few – and you’ve never thought too hard about what he’d meant by that.

The Commune’s small, maybe a hundred and fifty or so people on the island. There’d been no initiation, no test of faith or trial period you’d had to pass when you arrived – at least, none that you’d been aware of. You simply stepped off the boat and they’d welcomed you with open arms. 

An uneasy sensation settles into your gut, goosebumps prickling at your skin despite the heat of the midsummer night. 

That… doesn’t make sense. It can’t. Absolute control’s too important in groups like this, they couldn’t just let anyone–

Kiyoshi speaks again, his calm voice pulling you from your thoughts. “What was his name?” 

You blink at him slowly – stupidly. “Sorry?”

“Your friend,” he clarifies. “What was his name?”

“Oh, um- Ryuji.”

Kiyoshi’s brow furrows in thought for a moment, but he merely shakes his head, “Doesn’t ring a bell, but like I said, not everyone who arrives stays with us for long.”

He looks you right in the eye as he says it.

You don’t understand the cold, foreboding that seeps through your veins, because he’s lying. He has to be. 

Ryuji was here. They were friends, Ryu’d told you that–

Why did you think this stupid plan would work anyway? That he’d tell you anything, much less the truth when this whole fucked up island is full of liars and those too indoctrinated to know the difference?

“You alright?” he asks when abruptly, you shoot to your feet beside him.

And it takes every ounce of willpower you have left to force an easy smile to your lips, raising your cup just a fraction, “Yeah, just gonna go get a refill. Thanks for the talk, Kiyoshi.”

Whether he notices that your wine’s barely touched or not, you don’t care – not as you turn on your heel without another word and head back up the beach. 

Your head is pounding, your body trembling – you don’t hear the call of your name until a hand reaches out and grasps at your wrist, spinning you around.

Asuka greets you with a wide grin, Makki and a tall, broad shouldered man you think is called Mattsun standing either side of her – the former’s arm slung casually over her shoulder. “There you are! I’ve been looking for you,” she says. “Come on, we’re gonna go swimming, it’s so pretty out there!”

You glance out towards the ocean. Moonlight bathes the inky blue water, light shimmering off the rippling tide; some of the others are already out there, splashing amongst the waves. 

“Clothing optional, of course,” Makki laughs, and Asuka tugs on your wrist once more. 

“C’mon, it’ll be fun!”

But you shake your head, slowly pulling your hand from her grip, “I’m not feeling great, I think I’m gonna head back.”

Asuka frowns, concern marring her pretty features. “Are you okay? Do you need us to call Mizo–”

“No,” you say, cutting her off. Healer Mizoguchi is the last person you need to see right now. “I just– I just need to go lie down for a bit. You guys go have fun – enjoy the blessing, I’ll be fine.”

Makki and Asuka share a fleeting look, but it’s Mattsun who interjects before either one of them can speak, “I’ll walk you back, then.”

Your stomach churns. It doesn’t sound like a suggestion.

And the smart thing to do would be to accept his help; the walk from the beach to your villa isn’t far, and while you’re not as familiar with Mattsun as you are with Makki or Asuka, it’s not like he’s going to hurt you or anything, but–

“Really– you don’t need to, it’s fine,” you smile weakly, shuffling back as he reaches to offer you his arm. “Go swim, I’ll see you guys in the morning.”

Mattsun shrugs easily enough, falling back into line with the other two – yet there’s something in the way he grins and holds your gaze for a beat longer. A glimmer of amusement, as if there’s some joke you're not a part of. “I’ll hold you to it, sweetheart.”

The heat that floods your cheeks clashes uncomfortably with the cloying heaviness in your stomach, but somehow you manage to stutter out one last goodbye before turning back to scamper off in the direction of your room.

–But not to lie down.

There’s not a cloud in the sky, and the full moon’s bright. No need for a torch, not unless you decide to venture into the heart of the forest.

You’ve been a fool. Kiyoshi, Asuka, Makki, Mattsun; you can’t trust any of them to help you, even unwittingly. Ryuji’s here on the island – somewhere – and every second that slips away, every second that you allow yourself to forget puts him in further danger.

And so you cling to your discomfort, ground yourself in it. The prickling sensation at the back of your neck, the tightness in your chest as you slip past your villa, keeping low and quiet – they’re a reminder that there is something insidious here on the island, that you have to get out.

You and Ryuji.

He’s here. Away from the others, kept under lock and key as punishment, or maybe being forced to undergo whatever kind of glorified brainwashing they’ve got going on, but here. You need to be smart about this, because while you don’t intend to stop until you find him, tonight will be your best shot – while everyone’s distracted down on the beach. 

For the first time in a long time, it feels like you have a clear head. 

Creeping through the underbrush, you steer clear of the well trod pathways that lead towards habitation. You’ve been there, and to the docks, and the river. 

If they’re still keeping him here (and they are, you refuse to entertain the possibility that it could be otherwise) then it’s not somewhere out in the open. A bird cries out in the distance shattering the calm of the night, and you flinch – but it only serves as another reminder that your time tonight is limited; you cannot afford to delay. You wrack your brain, trying to dredge up memories of the last few weeks, surely you must have seen something–

“Lost?”

The single word, spoken in a deep, gruff voice has your blood running cold.

Slowly, you turn. 

Iwa stands behind you in the thicket, his face utterly impassive. Briefly, you contemplate whether it’s worth trying to bluff your way out of this, but Iwa’s eyes narrow, flashing in the dim light and you think better of it.

A sigh escapes you, your shoulders deflating. “Where is he– Ryuji?” you ask; a whisper rather than a demand.

Iwa’s expression gives nothing away. Did he know, or have you handed him the smoking gun of a crime that’d fallen through the cracks? Does it even matter anymore? You’re just–

You’re tired. 

Exhausted. In the space of a few moments all of that shining determination and resolve; it fled, leaving a gaping hole in its wake. This has to end, you can’t keep fighting against them forever. You can’t keep drowning in this guilt, feeling torn every second that you spend here on this stupid island. You just want to find Ryuji and go home.

… Right?

A tense beat passes as Iwa appraises you, and then; “Come with me.”

The hand he places on your shoulder doesn’t give you much choice. His grip isn’t what you’d describe as gentle, yet he’s careful enough to make sure you don’t trip or stumble as he marches you north. 

In the thick of the forest away from the beach, it’s eerily quiet. Every twig that snaps underfoot, every ragged breath you draw; it feels too loud. Out of place amongst the stillness of the midsummer night. 

And isn’t it ironic, that for the first time since you set foot in this paradise, you feel like you’re trespassing?

A bead of sweat trickles down from your temple and your mind unwittingly drifts back to Mattsun and Makki. Are they still swimming with Asuka? Probably, you reason. It’s hard to pinpoint exactly how long it’s been since you left them on the beach, but surely no more than an hour.

And strangely, like water drawn from the depths of a well, an image comes to mind; the four of you standing in the waves, you perched atop Mattsun’s shoulders, screaming and giggling in delight as Asuka tries to knock you down again, two sets of eyes watching from the shore… 

You should have stayed on the beach.

“Can I ask you something?” 

“You can ask,” he replies drily – humouring you, you suppose.

Your lips quirk upwards for the briefest of moments. “What happens on the Lunar blessing? Asuka, the others– no one told me what it was.” 

Iwaizumi doesn’t answer you immediately, but you feel his fingers reflexively tighten on your shoulder. Likely it wasn’t the question he was expecting; surely there were others that you could have asked – but you don’t really want the answers to those.

If you’re being led like a lamb to proverbial slaughter, what good would it do you to know it? 

And yet as the seconds pass and no answer seems forthcoming from your captor, you resign yourself to the fact that your curiosity will remain unsated. You don’t even know what prompted you to ask in the first place; knowing Oikawa it’s probably some grand, meaningless spectacle. Pretty, hollow words spoken only to–

A heavy sigh draws you from your thoughts, and you falter in your step, almost tripping over your own feet in the process. Iwa’s quick to right you, urging you forward with a less than gentle nudge. “Walk straight,” he grunts, yet it lacks any true heat. Anticipation flutters through your veins, and he mutters a soft curse behind you. “Fine. It… it’s an exchange.” 

An exchange? What the hell was that supposed to mean? Your eyebrows draw together, mouth opening to press the matter, but Iwa beats you to the punch.

“You’ll find out for yourself soon enough, now shut up.”

You have no response to that, so you do.

—

The two of you walk in silence for what feels like hours. Eventually, the terrain becomes steeper, the worn path you’re treading twisting and winding, and you realise you must be close to the mountains at the heart of the island. 

As your breath comes in heavy pants, your legs beginning to ache, you can’t help but be lost in the beauty of it all.

The flora’s different here, unlike any you’ve seen before. Flowers bursting from the bark of towering trees, blooms of vibrant hues; reds and purples and soft, baby pinks. Even the vines at your feet curl amongst pretty white buds that gleam invitingly under the moonlight. Your jaw falls open as you gaze around in wonderment. 

You forget why you’re walking, where it is that you’re heading. Iwa’s grip relaxes as a quiet gasp escapes you, and he doesn’t stop you when you stray from the path to take a closer look. You can’t resist reaching out to touch the silken petals, leaning in to smell their perfume. Soft and light and sweet, your eyes flutter shut, a smile creeping across your visage. 

It reminds you of home. Not your actual home – the rundown, tiny shoebox apartment you gave up before you came here – but something deeper.

Home, like the long summer days spent playing in your parents’ backyard. Home, like afternoons curled up by the window, watching the rain come down in sheets outside. 

Home, like the comfort of arms wrapped around you; two hearts beating in sync.

“C’mon,” Iwa interrupts after a minute or so, his voice a touch less gruff. “We’re almost there.”

Dazed, you find yourself nodding, allowing him to guide you back to the path. This time, he doesn’t grab you by the shoulder, seemingly content enough to walk by your side. 

True to his word, it’s only another few minutes before you see it; a wooden villa, four times the size of your own and far, far grander, set amongst a clearing of trees on the mountainside. Confused, your eyes flicker from the villa to Iwa and back again. Gossamer curtains billow lightly in the breeze, a warm, inviting glow spilling from the open windows. Surely this cannot be where he meant to lead you… and yet he merely stands at your side, arms folded across his broad chest, watching you expectantly. 

“You gonna make me carry you up there?” he asks, not unkindly.

Swallowing tightly, you shake your head. 

Another glance, and you catch a shadow lingering by the window. Your heart skips a beat, apprehension curling in your gut as you begin to walk, every step feels less steady than the last. You’re almost glad when Iwa takes you by the arm; if only so that you have something to focus on other than the growing tightness in your chest. The villa, with its pretty flowers and airy, elegant grandeur is far from the isolated cell you’d been afraid of, yet the uncertainty of what you’re walking into eats at you all the same.

Is this where they’ve been keeping Ryu, or has he brought you here for another reason?

Nothing, however, can prepare you for what you find inside. Warm light emanates from lanterns that bathe the room, and your eyes widen as you stare around you.

Strange, gold carvings inlaid with mother of pearl decorate the thick, woodens support beams, a pot of incense burns on a table overflowing with fresh fruit. There’s a jug of the same honeyed wine you’d drank earlier in the night and two cups set on an ornate stand nearby – just within arms reach of one of the chaise lounges.

Iwa affords you little time to gape, drawing you further in. Silken tapestries hang from the walls – you’re pulled along too quickly to truly take note, but the brief glimpses you get hint at a story; a divine being cast from his home, lost and wandering.

It tugs at something buried within you, and uncomfortable, you tear your eyes away.

The two of you reach a closed door at the end of the hall, and Iwa pulls you to a stop, knocking once.

“Come,” a familiar voice calls.

You stiffen, though perhaps you should have foreseen this outcome. Who else would Iwa bring you to but to him? Distantly, you register his grip relaxing, the sound of the door sweeping open and his voice at your ear.

“Go on.”

And it’s funny, you think, how two halves of yourself can be so at odds with each other. Because while your stomach twists itself into knots, goosebumps prickling at your skin, your legs stumble forward of their own accord.

Two steps forward, and your breath catches in your throat.

It’s a bedroom, that much you can deduce from the decor, but that’s not what captures your attention. Nor is it Oikawa, leaning against the bureau with a genial smile – at least not at first. 

No. In place of a back wall, there’s open space, not so much as a panel of glass obstructing the view before you. And what a view it is; from this height you can see the sprawling forest below, the coastline dotted with bonfires and the moonlit ocean shimmering beyond. Where the floorboards end, there are steps, you realise as you unwittingly inch closer, leading to a cascading spring – likely fed from the waterfall you can hear rushing nearby.

How easy it would be to brush aside your worries, you think, to shed your clothes, slip into the cool, calm water and lose yourself entirely. Even amongst all you’ve seen and experienced on the island so far, this is incomparable. 

“Stunning, isn’t it?” Oikawa murmurs, coming up behind you.

His voice startles you, yet when you turn, you find him not gazing out at the scenery but rather at you, that same strange, knowing smile curling at his lips.

“Some days, I admit, it’s hard to tear myself away,” he continues, unbothered by your stunned silence. “But even I can’t neglect my duties for too long.”

You swallow, tongue darting out to wet your lips. Confusion twists through you at the conversational tone, surely he hasn’t brought you here just to chat about the impressive views, yet there’s no hint of disapproval on his face, no indication that he’s anything less than pleased with you.

It’s unnerving to say the least, but you’ll play along with his game if that’s what Oikawa wants.

“Beautiful,” you say, though the words feel woefully inadequate even as you speak them.

He hums in agreement, something akin to pride flickers in his eyes at your assessment, “A labour of love, I suppose. But… everything you see here, everything I’ve built, it comes with a price. You understand that, don’t you?”

“I-I’m sorry?” you stutter.

“Paradise,” he elaborates, his smile widening. “There’s no give without take. Those people down there,” he nods down at the beach, the tiny, ant-like figures still milling about, “the lost, the beaten, the abused – I gave them what they so desperately sought; a sanctuary. A life without struggle, without suffering.” He pauses for a moment, reaching forward to take your hand. You almost flinch, almost skitter across the room to put as much distance between you as you can, but you don’t–

His palm is warm as it envelops yours, a pleasant heat that seems to spread through your veins, easing your tense muscles. There’s nothing to fear from him, you’re safe with Oikawa.

“Aren’t you happy here?”

Yes.

“What about the price?” you ask instead, though it takes more concentration than it should to force the words out. 

Oikawa’s thumb sweeps along the back of your hand. “I never said it was your price to pay,” he soothes. 

There’s something wrong with that sentence, but another sharp knock at the door draws your attention before you can think too hard about it. You turn out of instinct, barely aware of the way his hand tightens fractionally around your own.  

A single finger at your jaw coaxes your attention back to him. “If you built a paradise, wouldn’t you give whatever necessary to ensure it flourished?”

Oikawa stares at you expectantly, deep brown eyes searching your face as he waits for an answer. Agreement would be the logical choice – the one he seems to want from you – but even as your lips part, the only sound that escapes is a breathless, confused noise. 

When you were a kid, maybe six or seven, your parents took you to the beach one day and you waded too far out into the water. The waves were bigger than you expected; all it took was one mistimed jump and you were dragged under.

It wasn’t for long, probably only seconds, and ultimately you were fine – but you remember those few seconds so vividly. The feeling of helplessly tumbling through the water, fighting to break the surface but not knowing which way was up. Your lungs crying out for oxygen, the disorientation and dizziness, the panic.

It feels like that now – like the floor’s dropped out from beneath you and you’re just hurtling through empty air, desperately trying to slow yourself down with nothing to grab onto.

None of this makes any sense. Your emotions are shot to pieces, too many parts of yourself being pulled in different directions and you’re not sure which ones you can trust anymore. How can you be? Oikawa’s still holding your hand, smiling at you, and you just want everything to stop for a second so you can right yourself and breathe–

The door opens.

Iwaizumi appears in your field of vision, dragging a bound, hooded figure behind him. And because this is all some big, cosmic joke, you get your wish. Both of them, actually. 

Time slows. 

Even with a burlap sack pulled over his head, you recognise the man Iwa shoves to the floor and sneers at. 

Hundreds of miles, weeks of uselessly traipsing around this fucking island, and finally– 

Finally, you’ve found Ryu.

There should be relief. Fear, considering his current state, yes, but Ryuji’s here and he’s alive and as the hood is ripped off his head Oikawa squeezes your hand and the only thing you feel is… anger.

Not a heated flash that surges through your blood. It’s slow and seething, insipid. You look at him, locked in place as empty, pleading eyes meet yours and all you can think is that all of this – everything – is his fault.

“Asuka told you why she came to me, didn’t she?” Oikawa asks.

Your brow furrows, why–why is he asking you that now, how did he even–

He slips closer behind you, letting your hand go in favour of your shoulder, his spare dragging lightly along the bare skin of your arm. “She was lost, in so much pain. The physical wounds, they heal after a while,” his voice is right in your ear, a low murmur that sends a shiver rippling down your spine.

It isn’t an unpleasant feeling.

“But the scars inside, well… sometimes those fester.”

Gagged and bound, kneeling at your feet, Ryu doesn’t even try to make a sound. 

He’s thinner than you remember. Face gaunt and bruised; there’s a half healed, mottled yellow one painted across the left side of his jaw, one eye purple and swollen. You glance at Iwa, standing stoically behind him, muscular arms folded across his chest. His work, you wonder, or others as well? You notice the tear tracks running down his face, catching the light of the lanterns, but it’s as if you’re seeing it all through a thick pane of glass. None of it reaches you, there’s nothing but that simmering, ugly feeling in your gut.

Oikawa hums, “I told you that Paradise wasn’t for everyone. It’s a haven, yes, but there are those who simply… don’t belong.”

His body’s so warm, pressed up against yours. Fingertips graze along your side, and this time you don’t bother biting back that tiny, breathless moan. Iwa briefly smirks at it, but there’s no embarrassment. Why should there be? Your eyes flit back to Ryu, bowed on the wooden floor.

Another memory resurfaces; A sharp crack and a ringing in your ears, Ryuji, eyes bloodshot and glazed, falling to his knees, clutching frantically at the leg of your pants as endless apologies spill from his lips. 

It wasn’t him. It was never him. 

“He hurt you,” Oikawa purrs. “He kept hurting you, I saw it.”

The words wash over you like waves breaking on the shore, but you find yourself nodding anyway. It was the truth, wasn’t it? A thousand tiny hurts, piled up on one another until you finally broke.

And you’d still come when he’d called.

Listened to him when he’d begged you not to hang up the phone.

“Iwa.” 

The brunet moves towards a grand chest of drawers pushed up against the western wall. An ornate dagger sits atop, strange and beautiful; the blade isn’t steel or any metal you’ve seen before, but some kind of black stone, the handle intricately carved ivory. You hadn’t even noticed it before, Oikawa’s room filled to the brim with odd trinkets and treasures, but now that you have, it’s hard to tear your eyes away.

Iwa takes it and carries it over towards the two of you, holding it with the utmost care. 

“Obsidian,” Oikawa informs you as he accepts the blade from his friend, bringing it in front of you both to show it off. “Pretty, isn’t it?” And while you can’t see his face, you can hear the smile in his tone.

He isn’t wrong though. 

Ever so carefully you reach out, the soft pads of your fingertips running along the obsidian surface, surprisingly cool to the touch. The razor sharp edges – wavy and asymmetrical, leading to a tapered point – you’re careful to avoid, almost positive you’d draw blood with the slightest touch. 

“Take it,” he urges, his breath ghosting over the shell of your ear. 

Obediently, you turn your hand over, your fingers wrapping around the hilt when he presses it against your palm. And as long fingers curl around yours, you idly wonder how old the dagger is – there’s not so much as a scratch on it, yet there’s something about the weapon in your hand that feels ancient. It thrums under your combined touch.

Oikawa jerks his chin at Iwa, and with a short nod and one last, lingering glance cast your way, the latter exits once again. 

Leaving you and Oikawa alone with Ryuji.

“It’s almost time,” he remarks – though time for what, you’re not entirely sure. His lips press against your hair, his arm dropping from your shoulder to your waist, drawing you flush against him. “I know why you came to me, the lies that led you here.”

Both of you turn your attention back to Ryuji at that, the bound man now shaking with the force of his muffled sobs, snot dripping from his nose. That bitter resentment rears its ugly head again, soothed only by Oikawa’s pacifying hum, his thumb now rubbing slow circles at your side. “Shh, I’m not angry – none of that matters now. You’ve found a home here, no? You want to stay on the island with me.”

You swallow, nodding your head rapidly. The thought of having to leave now, of being forced out after everything you’ve seen and felt and experienced here, you– you can’t fathom it. You don’t want to. 

Ryuji’d wrought so much damage, but even before he’d swept through your life… had you ever been happy? Were you ever truly accepted – or loved, for that matter?

You can’t go back to that life. You won’t; he’ll have to drag you kicking and screaming from the shore. The Commune is your home, this is where you belong. Here, with Oikawa.

“Good girl,” he croons, another kiss pressed to the crown of your head. You beam at the praise and Ryuji crumples a little further. “Death begets life, you understand now, don’t you?”

You glance at the obsidian dagger in your hand and then at Ryu, beaten and bruised, bowed in forced supplication before you, and nod.

His fingers tighten around yours, “Then do it.”

Leaning forward, you reach for Ryu, fingers lightly trailing down his ruined cheek, curling at his chin to coax his head upwards. He squeezes his eyes shut, pain and regret etched over every inch of his face, but he doesn’t fight you. 

Baring his throat to your dagger, Ryuji’s pleas take the shape of your name.

Muffled, thanks to the gag, but unmistakable. And for one single moment, you falter. 

This… this is wrong; for all his faults, and god knows there were plenty, Ryu didn’t des–

A wave of calm washes over you, allaying your fears, your doubts. Your breath leaves you in a heavy gust, taking with it the tension in your shoulders, and Oikawa’s voice, smooth and honeyed, reaches your ears once more, “Nothing comes without a price, doesn’t he deserve to be the one to pay it?”

With your hand still tucked inside of his, your arm moves with a will of its own; slashing with inhuman grace.

The dagger cuts deep, Ryuji’s eyes snapping open in shock as a spray of warm blood hits you both. He chokes – a horrid, wet, gurgling sound – wide, pleading eyes frantically shifting between you and Oikawa. Every beat of his failing heart sends fresh blood spurting from the gaping wound. It drenches his front, splatters across your dress, your face, crimson pooling at the wooden floorboards at his knees. His mouth falls open and shut, trying and failing to form coherent sounds and you just stand there and watch, the dagger hanging limply at your side.

It doesn’t take long; seconds at the most. 

Ryuji’s slumps to the floor, his body finally growing still as the light fades from his eyes. There’s a beat of absolute silence, and then–

Oikawa shudders behind you, a strangled, drawn out moan leaving his lips. You try to turn, but his arms lock around you, every muscle tensing, his back arching. The dagger in your hand grows hot, burning the soft skin of your palm, but with his fingers still tightly entwined with yours you can only whimper and endure it.

With a hoarse, guttural roar, a pulse of pure energy surges through the room like a shockwave. Every cell in your body lights up, electrified, buzzing; a dizzying euphoria unlike any you’ve felt before coursing through your blood. 

Across the island, voices cry out in delight, a symphony of life. The trees tremble and shake, invigorated and renewed, fresh buds bursting from the forest floor, blooming under the light of the full moon.

The harvests flourish, even the river swells in response to the call.

Death begets life, just as he promised.

And with every inch of your body alight and singing with pleasure, you can barely think much less protest (and why would you want to?) as Oikawa roughly yanks you around, hungry lips crashing against your own as his fingers pull and tear at your bloodstained dress. He wastes no time with foreplay, and you suspect only begrudgingly takes a moment to hoist you up against him and carry you to his bed.

There’s nothing gentle about the way he hauls your hips to his, sheathing his cock inside of your warm, tight cunt with one savage thrust, but you don’t care.

Not as you cling to him, fingernails raking along his shoulders as he presses your thighs further apart so he can fuck you deeper. It’s hard and rough and brutal, yet you moan for him all the same, his name a prayer swallowed up by feverish, claiming kisses.

Tonight, bathed in blood and the soft glow of moonlight, you offer your god everything.

—

“Look, look!” 

A small hand tugs at your skirt, and you glance down to find a little girl with pretty, dark curls holding up a crown of woven flowers.

“Do you like it?” she asks. 

Carefully, you take it from her, bringing it closer to examine. She watches you intently as you study it, lifting it this way and that to appraise her work, humming thoughtfully for good measure. “I think it’s beautiful work,” you tell her after a long enough pause, and you can’t help but smile at the way she lights up, preening under your praise. “Why don’t you go show your mama? I’m sure she’ll be very impressed.”

The girl nods rapidly, thanking you before skipping off in the direction of her parents. The sun’s hanging low in the sky, the fires already being readied for the night ahead. You’re not unaware of the watchful gaze that carefully monitors your every move, and the moves of anyone who ventures too close by. Soon enough, you’ll return home to the heart of the island – anticipation fluttering in your belly at the thought of what awaits you – but for now, you let your feet sink further into the sand, closing your eyes as you bask in the lingering warmth of the setting sun.

At least until the sound of your name being called draws you back to the present. Yet it’s not Iwaizumi approaching, but rather Makki, two strangers trailing along behind him. 

“Thought I’d find you here,” he grins, throwing a casual arm over your shoulders. “This is Kaneo,” he gestures to the man, “and his wife Manaka. They arrived this morning, I’ve been showing ‘em round.”

You turn to the couple, smiling sweetly as you extend a hand, “Welcome to the Commune.”

[stellartales]

zhongli ▪︎ glazed moon

pairing: zhongli x traveler!reader

genre(s): comfort + mild angst + fluff

summary: liyue harbor is once again preparing for another festival — the mid-autumn festival. but somehow she simply couldn't bring herself to join the others in the celebration. definitely not when her heart is aching in melancholy for her missing twin. — | m.list

background: this scenario takes place during the mid-autumn festival - as quoted from wikipedia - it is the second-most important holiday after Chinese New Year with a history dating back 3,000 years, when China's emperors worshipped the moon for bountiful harvests.[2] The celebration is called Chuseok (autumn eve) in Korea, Tsukimi (moon-viewing) in Japan and Tết Trung Thu (Mid-Autumn Festival) in Vietnam

this event celebrated by the chinese is usually spent eating mooncakes and drinking teas. lanterns are also an important aspect of this festival. unlike the yuanxiao fesitval or mingxiao festival (which is the fictional festival featuring best boy Xiao in GI) where lanterns are released into the sky, lanterns are hand-held. this is a festival i celebrate every year hence i'm familiar with it — feel free to read up about this on wiki!

a/n: don't mind me, this is just a random idea that popped in my head. i'm in the mood for some angsty stuff these days so just had to get it out. Flute version of 无羁 (Wu Ji) from the drama 'Untamed' was the song which inspired my angsty mood while typing this. pardon my errors (I may have missed them and i kinda wrote this on a spur sooooo yea)

Please do me a favor and reblog this. Thank youuuu ❤

the vitality of liyue harbor has always been astounding; an envy of the seven nations.

bright, bustling streets even in the darkness of nights was enough to show the nature of the city.

though, today it was a different kind of bustle. stores were already closed; even the nocturnal businesses that one would only see at night.

the moon had been bright and round the past few nights while the people busied themselves for another festival to come.

— the mid-autumn festival, an annual festival celebrated by the people of liyue or at least that was what zhongli explained yesterday when he extended an invitation to her to join him and others in moon-gazing today.

tonight, the moon shone bright and full in the clear dark sky, seemingly more so than the previous nights.

strategically rooted to the ground of a spacious balcony overlooking the gentle waves below, the stone tables were in a perfect spot beneath the brilliant moon.

colorful mooncakes of various flavors and teacups filled with steaming tea laid before her.

she sat at one of the round stone tables with some funeral parlor staff and of course, zhongli himself who has been rather busy ever since she arrived—

the cheerful chatters and laughter drew her eyes away from the empty seat beside her and to the tables across theirs.

his archon days were over, he said.

he was simply trying to experience a mundane life as 'zhongli' now, as the geo archon had put it when she expressed her surprise at his involvement with a festival fabricated by the mortals' minds.

and indeed—

her gaze idled on him.

— he was doing it too well.

illuminated by the golden glow the table lanterns emanated, the cordial and relaxed atmosphere was warmed by attentive eyes and smiling lips.

all on him.

apparently, some things never changed. whether he was rex lapis or zhongli, he carried an alluring elegance and charisma. clinging to every word and his occasional hand gestures, they were like moths drawn to a flame.

she could understand why; she liked hearing him talk. she would have gone over too, if not...if not for this weight on her heart.

it has been nearly a year since she was in teyvat looking for her twin. these few days in the harbor, the full moon was a constant reminder of how time has passed, and yet...

a heavy sigh escaped her. a longing gleam waned in her eyes as she lifted her gaze to the sky.

they used to talk and eat under a full moon just like this, a bitter ache clenched her heart.

her teeth sank into her lower lip as it trembled.

please...not now. her hands curled into shaking fists as she tried to hold back the tears threatening to leave her eyes.

not now. not at this party. she silently pleaded with herself, her squared shoulders shaking. it took all her willpower to not let the dam break.

but one managed to escape her anyway.

—shit.

she was up on her feet fast and slipped away from the party as subtly as she could.

stumbling out of the party half-blind with tears wasn't exactly the best situation to remember about the cloak meant to keep her warm on an autumn night.

luckily, she didn't end up falling off the stairs she currently sat on.

autumn in liyue was typically not cold, but tonight seemed especially so.

she shivered to the chilly breeze brushing against her back. goosebumps crawled across her skin, particularly on the areas her dress failed to protect against the cold.

she couldn't quite bring herself to go back for the cloak. not with the mess she was now.

the sight of the round moon above wavered in her vision as tears quietly trailed down her cheeks.

under the vast, seemingly endless night sky, she felt small...

— her knees were drawn closer to her chest, curled fingers digging into her dress.

...and extremely powerless.

where is he? why can't she find him? is he even in teyvat? Is he even...still alive? does he even exist anymore?

—a dreading sense of hopelessness echoed in her heart and summoned another wave of tears wavering her vision.

under this wide, endless sky and its luminous moon, she felt alone, truly alone in the presence of the joyous cacophony of laughter and playful yells coming from the festival she left behind.

a nasty voice prompted by the noise taunted her — of how no one would notice, even if she were to walk right out of liyue harbor right now.

drowning in harsh, relentless thoughts, she failed to notice the gaze of a pair of wise, golden eyes on her back, soft with concern.

long legs covered the distance between them in a quiet, graceful stride; the gentle clacks of his loafers whenever their heels hit the ground slipped past her notice too.

not even when he climbed down the steps to settle himself next to her, a step above hers.

not even the inevitable proximity between their bodies caused by the short stairs spacious for one but narrow for two.

only until his coat was off his shoulders and wrapped around hers—

"why the tears on the mid-autumn festival?"

—she jolted with a sharp gasp, her widening eyes snapping over to him.

the calm and prodding gaze that met hers was accompanied by the tender brush of his thumb across her left cheek, right under her tearing eye before switching over to her other.

"zh-zhongli?"

she stayed stunned, unsure she was feeling so because someone noticed she had left or was it because of this simple gesture.

zhongli has always been a mentor-like figure to her. his words, his wise gazes, the comforting pets he occasionally gave on her head and back had always reminded her of how she was a mere child in his eyes.

but tonight...this, nothing about the gentleness his hand or his eyes emanate felt normal. or was she just delirious?

the strange stutter of her heart caused by the hand on her face, the blush heating up her cheeks made her tear her gaze away from his, flustered.

zhongli let his hand drop back onto his knee, but his eyes stayed.

crossing her arms to hold onto his coat sitting on her shoulders, she thought hard to recall his question.

"i can't help thinking about my brother, that's all." she looked back at him, smiling.

a smile he thought reminded him of the moon when it was not yet full — a quiet light melancholic with vague sadness.

"don't worry about me, i'll be fine." she slipped a glance over her shoulder in the direction of the festival. "you should go back there, zhongli, they need you. what's mid-autumn festival for liyue without you?"

she moved to remove the coat from her shoulders, but a hand wrapped around her wrist stopped her.

"but what's mid-autumn festival without you, my dear friend?"

zhongli regarded her intently, his eyes boring into hers for a second before shifting to focus on his coat.

there was something else in his eyes when they return to hers; it came and went in a flicker. "...keep this on, it's chilly today."

"thanks..." she murmured, her shoulders sinking as she yet again returned her thoughts to her brother.

"aether..." the pain she guarded showed on her face. "will i ever be able to see him again?"

tears started to well up in her eyes once again.

"i'm sorry, zhongli, i'm so sorry..." a quiet sob broke through, "today is supposed to be about the mid-autumn festival, and yet...here you are, listening to me."

zhongli's mouth opened then snapped close.

he always knew what to say whenever she was in a pinch. however, it was tears this time, and he wasn't exactly sure about what he should do about his body's urge to extend his arms out to her.

he was already more than a thousand years old.

as the former geo archon, he was the immovable rock. emotions and impulses he used to hold within himself in his younger days were buried deep under the sands of time...or at least they should be.

so where did this come from? was this strange stir an inevitable part of being a mortal?

"you know what?"

her movement to rise from the spot beside him turned his head back to her.

resolute hardened the glint in her tearing eyes, "i don't want to hold you back any longer,"

her fingers curled into a shaky fist, nails digging into her palm.

"....the people need you. i-i think i should just go bac—"

his hand flew out before he could think any further; his body was faster than his thoughts this time.

her next breath puffed out of her, in surprise and bewilderment as her body was tugged and cocooned by a breathing warmth before she could understand what happened.

and when she did, her eyes flew wide.

cheek pressed against his neck, she found herself held to his chest. she could feel his chin atop her head and his arms around her.

he was beside her a moment ago, and now he was behind sharing the same step as her, broad enough to accommodate them. was she the one who moved? or did he?

she didn't know how but she couldn't find the energy to care —the scent of musk and lingering tea engulfing her was an alluring comfort that made her want to stop trying.

so warm. really, really warm.

and so was his voice. "...but you need me." a hand caressed the back of her head.

there was a pause before a feigned cough ensued. "i meant, this."

[extremelyblackandwhite]

falling.

pairing: carter baizen x reader

warnings: angst, cheating (sorta?)

part 1 / part 2

and it kills me 'cause i know we've run out of things we can say. what am i now? what am i now? what if i'm someone i don't want around? i'm falling again, i'm falling again, i'm falling. what if i'm down? what if i’m out? what if i'm someone you won't talk about? i'm falling again, i'm falling again, i'm falling and i get the feeling that you'll never need me again ...

Stay away from me. I don’t want to see your face.

Those words were burned and scarred onto his mind and no matter how much he drank, how much he smoked, how much he slept, he could still hear her voice echoing those same words which hit him like daggers. She’d meant those words, he knew her well enough to know when she meant something and she had meant every single letter of every single word she had muttered. He couldn’t escape them and the worse thing was, he couldn’t escape her face. He hadn’t seen her in the last three months but he couldn’t forget the look on her face, the look of disappointment and hurt. He was used to disappointing his family, that’s all he could do but he’d never disappointed her before. She’d been upset at him, he’d been upset at her but they’d never been disappointed at each other. They’d always been there for each other but now she was just gone and he daren’t even try approaching her. He knew her threats weren’t empty and he knew way too well not to mess with Y/N. She was sweet but at the end of the day she was a Vanderbilt heiress and if you got on her bad side, you could easily see it. Yet, that didn’t mean he didn’t miss her.

How could he not when she had been around since the very moment they were introduced for each other? He couldn’t really explain what they were and he didn’t want to dwell on it, he’d rather think to himself that she was gone rather than admit he was the one responsible for it. After all, wasn’t that what he always did? Run away from his problems and avoiding them, instead creating even more issues. It was easier after all. However, what he did not expect was to find her doing the exact same and he couldn’t help but admit how angry he was to see her with someone else. At Cotillion, with Chuck, it was easy to know it was nothing; after all, everyone with a pair of eyes knew all Chuck Bass was interested in was Blair and once Nate was off the picture, the two immediately became a thing. But now? Now he couldn’t convince himself of it, he couldn’t tell himself that she was trying to make him jealous as she stepped into a MET exhibition accompanied by someone whom he didn’t know. A Kennedy, he had heard, and how could Carter compete with a Kennedy? He could not but seeing his Y/N with someone else made his blood boil and his grip tight around the champagne glass. Clearly he had forgotten he was here with someone else as well, yet, that didn’t mattered. What mattered was that his Y/N was with someone else. 

He hadn’t even want to come to this exhibition in the first place, he’d even tried to argue it out with Serena yet it was no use, he was here now and he could see it; he could see them. He could see the man pointing to his Y/N introducing her to everyone in the room as if she didn’t already know them. And that smile, that smile that always got him to do anything she wanted. A smile that was for him no longer yet looked his way and faltered. He downed the cold champagne in his glass, staring back at her before she moved her gaze away, hand wrapped around her date’s arm. Carter shoved the champagne glass on one of the floating silver trays before making his way through the crowd like a wolf hunting its sheep until she reached her. Whomever she was with had left her alone, probably to get some drinks but he didn’t care.

      - We need to talk. 

      - No, we do not. - she grabbed a canape from a passing tray, a habit she had whenever she was uncomfortable at parties. 

      - Can you at least give me that? You ruined my family’s appearances at social events, you made your point. You owe me a talk.

      - That’s rich. - she looked over her shoulder, hoping her date would come and interrupt their interaction. 

      - Please. - his eyes scanned hers for any softness which still laid for him, yet he couldn’t read her eyes. They were hooded and hidden by thick black shadow and dark eyeliner which took away from how watery and bright they usually were, from how happy he remembered them. It’d been a long, long three months and part of him hopped all the care she had once held from him hadn’t died. He still held her in high regard and while he didn’t expect her for even care for him anymore, part of him still hoped she wouldn’t let him bleed out if she found him wounded. However, Y/N was much too smart to let her own emotions take over her in public situations and so she walked away.

Her gown dragged away all her insecurities and all the faltering which still seemed to dance around her whenever he was around, yards and yards of fabric dragged all that was bubbling all the way to her throat and she found herself walking faster and faster to the bathroom. Her hands flew to the porcelain sink, holding herself up as if the weight of all she had ignored for the past three months was pushing her down into the centre of the Earth. Her head snapped up, watching her reflection in the golden mirror; she thought maybe if she could see how pathetic she looked, she would snap out of it. 

     - Y/N. - her grip on the porcelain tightened up as she turned her head to see him against the closed door.

     - I hate you. - she almost barked those words at him, voice filled with poison as if she had wanted to say them a long time ago. His eyes softened, corners looking down, a far cry from how unreadable he always was. - With every fibre of my being, I hate you. 

     - Fine. - he made his way towards her, standing by her side. - I just wanted to say that I’m sorry I hurt you. I never meant to hurt you.

     - You humiliated me in front of everyone. - her eyes looked into his for the first time that night, old wounds still not completely wounded. - You kissed me in Santorini when you were with Serena. You are a bad person, Carter. 

     - I know but I wasn’t with her like I was with you.

     - Details of your relationship do not interest me, Carter. If you wanna talk about your relationship, I’d suggest couples therapy. 

     - We weren’t a couple in Santorini, Y/N. Did you seriously think I would’ve done that to you?

     - I don’t know you. - she spewed those words, letting go of the sink and walking backwards, away from him. - I don’t even trust you, Carter.

     - I hope you know I’m not asking for forgiveness from you. I’m just apologising. 

     - I don’t need your apology, I need you away from me. I want you away from me.   

     - You’re spoiled, you know that? - he pointed his finger at her. - Just because the whole world revolves around your family does not mean I’ll stop going places just because you don’t want to see me. You don’t get to decide what I do!

    - For someone who hates this lifestyle, you seem so bothered. - she stood there, not completely happy with the adjective he’d just placed upon her. Y/N Archibald was many things, but spoiled was not one of them. No matter how many riches she had, she did not expect the world to bend to her will.  - Why are you here if you’re just going to criticise me anyway? 

The two of them remained in that match, almost to see which one of them could hurt the one the most, as if hurting each other would somehow make the fact they weren’t together hurt any less. The truth was, both of them were stubborn individuals and while Y/N had been the most forgiving of the two, seeing the man she had always hoped would someday be hers with someone else had almost erased all of that. Maybe she was spoiled for expecting him to someday magically want her by his side but he was spoiled too. They were two flawed human beings staring each other, waiting to see which one would break apart first until he realised one thing; he did not want to see her break apart. He was bitter, angry at her even but deep down he knew there was no one to be angry at but himself. He had caused this and he was lashing out at her, hoping that by hurting her, he’d feel better about her hating him so much. However, he did not want to hurt her. At least no more than he’d already done, either willingly or unwillingly. 

    - You win. - he lowered down his hands in defeat. Y/N, however remained still yet if one were to touch her arm, they could feel she was trembling. - I can’t fight with you any longer.

He almost left her there standing, not sure of what to say. He really was going to leave, he was going to disappear for a while yet his decision faltered as his eyes almost too quickly scanned her, noticing the thin gold bracelet around her wrist. He had given her that bracelet, something he’d got from one of his first travels to Europe. It was nothing too special, in all honesty, compared to what she was wearing, it was probably the cheapest thing she had on her person but he remembered that bracelet way too well. He remembered giving her the small little bag, her little argument about how he shouldn’t have gotten something for her, how she promised she’d never take it off. She still had it, she still wore it. 

     - You’re wearing the bracelet I gave you. - he pointed towards her wrist and she immediately covered it, looking at it for a bit before looking up at him.

     - Fine. - her voice almost broke as she tried to undo the clasp.

     - Don’t. - his voice however broke down as she found the clasp. - You promised. 

Her aura softened, shoulders lowering to a neutral position as her hand unwrapped from her wrist, her eyes gazing the shiny gold metal before she looked up and at him. Whatever fire her anger had ignited within her went down, washed away like the waves onto the sand and for the first time she moved forward until she was close enough to feel his breathe on her face. Her eyes heightened up to his, lips half parted as her hands cupped his face, the same face she had seen grow older over these years yet remain the same blue eyes which were so typically his. Her finger grazed his cheekbone, the mere action making him nuzzle his face against her warm. She always had warm hands and the both of them no longer wanted to fight. She was tired and Carter was deadly afraid of not ever talking to her again, he could not lose her. He did not want to lose her. 

There was no sound, not even the soft music outside seemed to break the silence, all that was around was their breathing, soft and slow. Her eyes moved from his to his lips, pink tinted, tainted with the taste of champagne which she could smell from his breathe. Soft emotion filled eyes looked his for a second before she moved closer, closing the distance between them. Her hands moved from his chest to rest against his chest as she tasted the champagne on his lips. His hands held her waist flush to him, before he two broke off the kiss, foreheads leaned against each other.

    - Don’t leave.

[ladyreapermc]

Fic: Stress Relief (Donaka x fem!reader)

Summary: Donaka is stressed and it’s your job to help him relax.

Pairing: Donaka x Fem!Reader

Author’s notes: is this me posting filth again? Why, yes, it is! Enjoy because I have no idea how long this will last. LOL

Wordcount: 2688

Warnings: smut (oral m!receiving; fingering). Powerplay; degradation kink; edging, overstimulation; choking. 

Most of your days you spent doing whatever you wanted because you had no worries, not financially or of any type. You were free to hang out with friends, travel, party, and do whatever you wanted.

There were only two rules: you needed to be available to him whenever he called, be it in person or through the camera. And you were exclusively his. No one was allowed to touch you unless he said so. Those two rules were easy enough to follow when it meant having everything you ever dreamt of and more.

That day, you had been in your apartment reading when the message came in, making the smartwatch around your wrist vibrate:

Zen space. Lilac. NOW.

You had no idea what had happened and you preferred to remain blissfully ignorant of Donaka’s business, but you recognize that tone, even through text. He was stressed and furious and it was your job to help him relax.

Wasting no time, you set your book aside and headed to your bedroom, considering for a second if you should take a quick shower first, make sure your skin was silky soft and scented just like he preferred, but decided against it. Making Donaka wait was never an option so you just changed into the requested lingerie.

It was a pale lavender babydoll, with a lace front that revealed almost every inch of your body and tiny panties that barely covered your sex. You also put on the diamond choker he had gifted you even though he hadn’t explicitly asked for it, before taking the private lift that took you straight to his loft on the floor above.

The elevator opened in his home office and you noticed the room was dimly lit, the wall of screens was on standby offering a soft blue glow. The black leather couch was empty as you expected so you turned your attention to the left corner of the room, his Zen space, where he went to meditate or cool off.

Donaka was sitting on the glass bench, back turned to the rest of the room and facing the wall of concentric circles, his bare feet resting on the platform that separated the smooth and polished dark floor from the finely grated white sand. His hands rested on his spread knees and there was a slight hunch on his shoulders, the weight of his stress.

By his feet, in front of him, laid a thin pillow to protect your skin from the unforgiving sand and you were glad for it. You would, of course, kneel on it and endure the grains digging into your skin if that was what Donaka wanted but he didn’t get off on pain. Not yours at least.

You moved towards him in silence, resisting the urge to brush your fingers over his broad shoulders and back, before kneeling in front of him, sitting on your heels and looking up at the man that gave you everything and owned your heart.

His eyes pinned you in place and made your breath hitch. Cold fury clouded the brown orbs and his lips were pressed together tightly, jaw clenched tight. The sight made your body shudder with want and you pressed your thighs together.

There was something so arousing about seeing Donaka this enraged. Seeing the violence in his eyes and knowing that it would take him barely any effort to snap you in half or choke the life out of you. The knowledge that he was the kind of man that killed without even blinking but for some reason, he chose never to harm you. Most of the time, Donaka chose tender caresses and measured touches designed to bring you the kind of ecstasy that you had never experienced before.

Today his fingers trailed against your cheek in a featherlike touch, his thumb brushing over your lips, and at the faintest pressure, you parted them, letting the thick digit enter your mouth. You swirled your tongue around it before sucking greedily just as you wanted to do to another part of his body.

You watched his eyes darkening as you hollowed your cheeks and pulled more of his thumb into your mouth and moaned under your breath at the knot building between your legs, making your core pulse and dampening your panties.

Donaka’s other hand reached for the button and zipper of his trousers, releasing his half-hard cock from its confinements. He pulled his thumb free from your mouth, palm cradling your nape before he nudged your forward.

You licked your lips and inched closer, mouth salivating at the treat in front of you. You want his long, thick cock in your mouth. You wanted to feel it fully hardening between your lips, under your talented tongue. You needed to taste his bitter precum, a flavor you were slowly becoming addicted to… but all that could only happen after Donaka’s permission.

Sometimes it would come almost immediately. He would push you down his hard shaft, making you gag on it, fucking your mouth with abandon and using you like you were worth little more than your holes. In those days, he would come all over your face, zip himself up, and leave you to take care of yourself.

However, on days like today, when he was tense and furious with whatever had bothered him at work, he preferred to drag it out. To make you work for it, sometimes even beg to have his cock in your mouth. When he finally allowed it, Donaka would fuck your mouth oh so slowly, pushing deeper and deeper, until tears started to spring in your eyes, spit ran down your chin and your juices soaked your panties in such a way that all you and he could smell was the scent of your desperate arousal.

“What do you want?” He asked and his low and throaty voice sent shivers down your spine.

“Your cock, sir.” You whispered, peering at him from under your lashes. “Will you fuck my mouth, please? Make me choke on it?”

There was a barely-there twist in the corners of his mouth and your heart leaped in your chest. How you loved to make him feel good. It was like a drug.

“Such a good girl,” Donaka said, his thumb caressing your jaw. “My little cockslut.”

“Yes, sir,” you all but whimpered, pressing your thighs together once again because your cunt throbbed and you had never in your life thought you would get this turned on by being used like this, but by God, his words made you shudder with desire, body hot and ready for anything that Donaka was willing to give you.

With his hand still on your nape, controlling your pace, he nudged you forward once more, holding his cock with his free hand and letting the tip rub against your wanting lips. Donaka wasn’t one for much noise, but there was a slight hitch on his breath that told you he was enjoying the soft, almost ghost-like touch on the sensitive and swollen head of his member.

Your lips parted a little, letting your tongue brush against the velvety head and Donaka sucked in a deep breath, especially when the tip of your tongue probed against his slit, bringing forth a pearly white drop of his precum and making him harden fully.

God, your cunt ached in need to be filled but you knew you couldn’t touch yourself. Not until he allowed and that wouldn’t happen anytime soon. Not until he had his release and part of you wanted to just suck him fully into your mouth, end this torturous teasing. Even if it meant a serious punishment later (or maybe especially because it would lead to a punishment).

However, the bittersweet pleasure of the edging and denial was like a drug too, making your orgasm be nearly blinding so you hanged on, gathering every little bit of patience you could find so you could continue to just lick the tip like a lollipop that you wanted to last forever.

After a few more moments of that painfully slow game, Donaka’s grip on your nape tightened, his blunt nails digging lightly against your skin, and you knew he was ready for more. You met his dark gaze, eyes hooded with pleasure lips parted in a soft pant as he watched you and he didn’t even need to tell you what to do.

“Sir, may I suck you now, please?” you pouted and kissed the head of cock for good measure, batting your lashes like a needy child and Donaka smirked.

“Yes, angel, you may.”

You didn’t need to be told twice and engulfed the thick and hard shaft into your mouth, whimpering at the burst of flavor on your tongue as he let out a small grunt of pleasure, his shoulders finally relaxing as he tilted his head back and just enjoyed your work.

You pushed him deeper into your mouth until your nose was almost pressing against the thick dark curls surrounding his member. The open fly of his dress pants scratching your chin as you hollowed your cheeks and hummed. Donaka cursed low and grunted, his hips raising lightly, driving even deeper, and you gagged, tears burning your eyes. Your clit was almost painfully swollen and each rub of the lace of your panties was torture. You needed just a little bit of…

“Take your hand off that cunt, angel.”

You had no idea how he knew. His head was still tilted back, eyes nearly closed but you didn’t dare to disobey a direct command. With a pitiful whimper and one last flick on your needy clit, you pulled your hand away, crossing them behind your back and Donaka’s smirked.

“That’s better.” He looked back at you, tugging you away until his cock slipped from your lips with a pop, and you gulped a breath. “No one ever taught you that you shouldn’t touch what doesn’t belong to you without permission?”

You said nothing because you didn’t have an answer to that.

“And to whom that little pussy belongs, angel?”

“You, sir.” Your voice was small and raspy from the abuse on your throat.

“Exactly.”

He petted your cheek once, before pushing you back toward his cock, and dutifully, you took him into your mouth again, letting your jaw slack so his shaft could slip in and out as he guided you to bob your head at a faster pace. His cock pulsed against your lips, and you could tell he was close. Soon enough, Donaka’s hot cum would be coating your tongue and you couldn’t wait. You were desperate for it.

Before him, you had never allowed a guy to cum in your mouth. Then again, before Donaka, the was plenty you didn’t let men do to you. He changed your life, and you knew you would never be able to go back.

His grip on you tightened again as he pulled you closer until your nose was buried against his pubes and you forced yourself to relax as best as you could as he let out a final grunt and pumped his cum down your throat.

The hot and sticky ribbons making you gag again and tears run down your cheeks as you blubbered and squeezed your wrists to hold them still. Only when he was completely spent, Donaka let you pull back, his cock slipping from your mouth, glistening with your spit and his cum as you coughed and gasped for much-needed air.

He only allowed you a moment, before he was forcing to sit on his thigh, your trembling legs spread as he pushed your panties aside and glided his long fingers over your soaked hairs and sensitive lips.

“My dirty little cockslut is this wet from sucking me,” he mocked with a biting tone, and you whimpered. “Do you want to cum, angel?”

“Yes, please, sir.”

His fingers rubbed over your clit, making you gasp and whine, the pleasure overwhelming to the point of hurting but you still thrust your hips up, seeking more.

“Please…” you were almost crying now, desperate for it. Exactly like Donaka like it. “Please, please, please. Oh God, please…”

Thick and fat tears ran down your cheeks and the same hand that had been around your nape, came to your throat, surrounding the choker and forcing you to tilt your face enough so he could lick away your tears and his two fingers finally entered you.

Your cries were high-pitched and needy as Donaka fingered you hard and fast, the heel of his large palm slapping your clit as he curled his digits and the hand on your throat tightened in just the right way.

Your climax hit you like a storm, lighting up every single one of your nerve-ends. Your vision darkened, your body tensed, your back arched and a wild moan tore from your throat as your cunt pulsed and throbbed and you squirted all over his hand and knee.

For a while you were nothing more than a conglomerate of nerves busting with pleasure that seemed to last forever as Donaka continued to thrust his fingers, pressing the rugged wall of your cunt and rubbing your clit, dragging out your bliss until another lightning struck and you came again in what it felt like was just seconds later, but you knew it had to be longer. Time seemed to shorten and stretch at once as you rode his hand, gasping, wheezing, and crying?

You couldn’t tell if that pitiful sound was really coming from your mouth, not when your body was electrified like that, your muscles spasming and feeling like jelly and you had to reach behind yourself for Donaka’s shoulders to hold yourself because surely you would slide to the ground if you didn’t.

And just as the blinding light of your pleasure was starting to dimmish and you thought you would be able to see and feel and talk and breath again, his hand restarted his motions and you cried because it was almost painful now. That sweet, incessant ache that made you seek it, and you could faintly hear sobs and pleas of stop and no more. You couldn’t take another.

“Safeword?” Donaka’s voice sounded clear in your ear, and it was on the tip of your tongue. You knew if it crossed your lips, he would stop, but your vocal cords refused to utter it. “Safeword, angel.”

You pressed your lips together tightly, like a kid with a secret, and shook your head. His lips drew into a pleased smile against your cheek.

“That’s my girl.”

His kiss on your jaw was almost soft and loving before his fingers restarted their dance inside you. Even faster than before and your hips were rocking against it, actively seeking out your third orgasm despite the aching of your abused clit.

Once again, as the climax overtook you, your body went rigid and seized, your vision whited-out and for several blissful moments, that intense pleasure made time fall away, leaving only the most perfect peace and comfort, like slipping into a hot bath after a long day, letting the scented water wash away any hint of tension in your body before you laid in your bed, the duvet and pillows soft like a lover’s caress, welcoming you to an exhausted, dreamless sleep.

When you finally opened your eyes again, after what it felt like just a couple of seconds, you were in your bed, cleaned and tucked tight, the only evidence of your previous activities was the sweet ache between your legs whenever you moved and a deep, sad sigh escaped your lips.

It was always like this: Donaka fucked your brains out, then he would take care of you, clean you up and tuck you in and no matter how much your blissed-out self, begged for it – and you knew you always did – he would never stay. But this was the deal you made. You took whatever he gave you. You didn’t complain and you didn’t demand more.

You couldn’t. Too afraid of losing what little you already had.

xxx

  If you enjoyed this work, please consider reblogging and/or commenting please. Feedback gives life to us writers!

[keingleichgewicht]

WERE YOU KIDDING ABOUT THE ASK GAME if not i dont have any specific lyrics in mind but i always thought the lyrics to the mill were so cool and maybe you could get some thoughts out of them? :0

YEAH GOD OKAY LET’S TALK ABOUT THE MILL. LET’S TALK ABOUT UHHHHHHHHH [THROWS DARTBOARD]

this line. this MIGHT go on for a while so i will............  readmore

so the mill feels kind of notably different to the rest of the pafl songs, which tend to be unusually literal for lyric, either straightforward retellings of events (punch it, punk!) or character piece monologues set to plot visuals (strike 3) or both (all of them, but for instance particularly comfort zone, which is just dmitry’s horrible manifesto until it gets hijacked by a death sentence in the second verse.) the mill is a lot more like what we expect from poetry these days, which is to say it’s heavy on imagery, low on clarity, and fucking confusing!

I’ll draw a circle in the sand, drive myself around the bend in a desperate attempt to hold on to your battered hand Rocked to sleep beneath the snow, she is bathed in youthful glow ‘Strong enough to let it go,’ he says, but darling, I don’t know

a lot of the mill is about circles. this is in the name: a mill is something which turns. a waterwheel is a circle, a grindstone is a circle. it’s even in the melody: the chorus is a cyclic, pentatonic four-note riff that keeps going up and down and up its own ladder, chasing its own tail, not really reaching resolution. and then it’s also in, you know, the story:

the meat grinder!!!! everyone’s favorite fucking hellhole!!!! it is only semi-explicitly identified in the song but that’s because it’s a concept from the source material - both tarkovsky’s stalker and roadside picnic feature the meat-grinder, as a location nicknamed thus by stalkers because it is even more fucking deadly than the rest of the zone, all of which is already ridiculously fucking deadly, and if you’ve seen the movie:

it is more or less instantly recognizable in the mill as well. so here we have a circle! here we have a mill (the title has about seventy double meanings but this is certainly one of them,) and as it turns out, this mill at least will absolutely kill you. and horribly too. interestingly though, in roadside picnic (the book) the meat-grinder is not a tunnel, and it’s not round - it’s just a nondescript patch of ground which will wring you out like a dishcloth and kill you extremely dead if you walk into it. on the other hand what we have in the book in terms of circles is the golden ball, which is the equivalent of the movie’s the room, which is, well,

in short both stories ultimately hinge upon the idea that there is a something in the zone which can give you your heart’s desire. anything you want. everything you want. whatever you want. it is infinitely powerful; it is infinitely capable. the catch is that it will only give you what you want. the catch is that giving you what you want is not the same as giving you what you are asking for. the other catch is that in both cases you have to get through the meat-grinder first.

(so, by the way, what the fuck, right? does pafl’s zone have a wish-granting factory? is it also behind the grinder? where were the original trio going when they got themselves fucked up? and did they get there?)

but the point is: the golden ball, the wish-granting factory, is also a circle. it’s just sort of a sphere. it’s a big round fuckin yellow thing. you know, sorta like:

which is THE ONLY TIME yellow is used in occam’s razor not counting the full-colour shots, and it drives me CRAZY, but it is also me going full conspiracy board so let’s not even worry about it. THE POINT IS.

the circle is the death-machine and the wish-machine. neither of these things are really.... very good. the circle, or at least the arc, is also very closely associated with death:

(розовая дуга предрассветного, ‘rose arc of pre-dawn’. if i’ve fucked up that nominative please feel free to stone me to death!) 

in the gdoc notes to message lost ferry briefly refers to the dawn as if it were a good thing, the dawn of hope, which is a usage that sort of agrees with the desolate and deathless hope of strike 3′s ‘everything will pass / a day will come,’ but on the other hand it really is very closely associated with dying. nikolai bites it; nikita bites it; sergei and olga left significant chunks of themselves behind. and the thing about ‘this too shall pass’ is that it’s always true, as is ‘everything ends’, but of course that’s ‘cause the thing that ends might be you. and as we know

dawn is an ending. so that seems concerning!

i think the circle, the arc, the bolt falling back to the ground, is not a good thing. i am getting a little conspiracy board here in general but forgive me, i cannot make you a wholesome answer, my wit’s diseased. i think the circle is an enclosed space. it’s an unbroken cycle. it’s the grindstone. it’s the mill. it’s about what pafl’s always been about: about being trapped, about having no chances, about being bordered upon. the circle’s the geometric figure of equidistance from a given point, and you can walk on it forever, and nothing will ever change; you will never get closer, you will never get further away, you will never get out! the sun rises, the sun sets, and you are no closer to anything you wanted. it’s worth noting that anya’s borderline city, the zone-edge port town she complains is trying to crush all her dreams, her mill

is a circle. (a cog in a machine! a grind-wheel! a cage!)

and yura, whose dreams have already been burned out of him, who starts the series already resigned to never getting out of here, calls it ‘this dire deja-vu’, i am specifically resisting putting the accent marks back onto that, which is to say, it’s a repetition that haunts him. it’s going round and round and getting nowhere.

so if we bring it back around: drawing a line in the sand, as the phrase is generally used, means setting a border, means saying this far and no further. often it’s yourself you’re setting the border for. you hit some divide you can’t abide crossing so you say this stops here, it may be too early or too late, but i say it stops here. so logically: drawing a circle in the sand means you’ve locked yourself in completely.

I’ll draw a circle in the sand, drive myself around the bend in a desperate attempt to hold your battered hand

the whole first half of this song, i think, is olga promising to grind herself down in a hundred ways if it means she won’t be left alone. how hard can it be to never let it overflow? she may feel lower than the low, she may wish she could just disappear out here, into the postindustrial rust, but though it gets harder all the time she will keep pretending. she isn’t going to burden sergei, or indeed anyone, with her problems, her fears, her scars. she is hurt, but she’s used to it, she’s gotten used to being haunted long ago. she keeps her bad eye covered. she stays within her circle she has drawn. she keeps going round and round. she will take the smallest sliver of human connection and be happy, she promises she will be happy, she promises she won’t ask for more, she will take just the ‘hello.’

but you knooooow it’s not true. you know it’s grinding her down, that she’ll be milled to nothing pretty soon, and really she knows it too.

i am perhaps seventy percent sure that this line is a reference to the windmills of your mind by michel legrande, which features such lines as

Like a tunnel that you follow to a tunnel of its own Down a hollow to a cavern where the sun has never shone Like the circles that you find in the windmills of your mind

which on one hand seems sort of obscure to be a purposeful reference but on the other hand would be a hell of a coincidence if it wasn’t, wouldn’t it. either way it characterizes circles ambiguously, but definitely unsettlingly. going around in circles is chasing infinity, but what in god’s name would you do with it if you caught it? what are you even hoping to accomplish? and: 

the second half of this song is bitterer, sharper - staring down the mouth of the meat-grinder she’s a little more willing to admit to herself that this is going nowhere. she is running out of cages to keep herself in. she is very tired. it’s easy to say why don’t you leave it all behind, it’s easy to say, she’s strong enough to let it go, it’s easy to say, too strong to die. it is a lot harder to actually live.

this is also where the flashbacks admit to us how badly hurt they really were - sergei with his whole side in shreds, she still hides her eye but at least we get to see it’s bleeding. this moral compass is forever misaligned, she says, so there is damage, and it is lasting. and she can’t settle for hello, she can’t live like this, she needs someone by her side. the trouble is whether she can believe she has any hope of getting that

as for who ‘her’ is, or the ‘she’ of ‘she is bathed in youthful glow’, i figure there’s two possibilities: either it’s nadya, who haunts olga too, because nikita’s abandonment of nadya represents exactly what she most fears for herself, or it’s olga’s younger, unbroken, binocular self - both of whom were so young, and so easily hurt, and are now unfindable.

and then there’s this conclusion: ‘the sun will rise, until then / i’ll be waiting for you on the other side.’ which maybe is a sort of hope after all? she’s reached no real conclusions in the zone - she knows there must be hope but she can only barely believe in it - she thinks she is destined to self-destruct. but on the other hand she still has that, a version of sergei’s own ‘a day will come’

you may be hurt, but if you can hold yourself together, you can hope for a dawn someday. an ending. a change. but the trouble’s that there’s more than one kind of ending. and there’s more than one meaning for other side. there are cages, and then there are cages. and you know what else looks like a tunnel, a circle?

staring down the barrel of the gun.

[hlizr50]

Gwynriel Week Day 4 - Music

I'm back, my lovelies. Appreciate the patience.

Let's talk MUSIC, because I have established (with OVERWHELMING support) that Gwyneth Berdara would absolutely LOVE Taylor Swift and would 100% convert Azriel. He would play all begrudging and 'you have questionable tastes, Berdara' but behind closed doors and when they're alone together he's all in. And T. Swift has EVERYTHING. They can be lovey, they can be playful, they can be bitter. There are SO many options.

And, of course, I wouldn't be me if writing weren't involved.

I've started the series called 'Gwynriel and Her Highness Taylor Swift' on AO3, which will follow our favorite couple in AU fics with a sprinkling of T. Swift. You can read the first one, 'You Belong with Me', here.

And now I present the next installment:

Safe and Sound

Read on AO3

TW: Brief mention of past sexual assault and violence - no details, just that it happened

Gwyn's nightmares rear their ugly heads and Azriel is there to comfort her. She tells him about what happened the night her sister died and he finally understands the shadows he sees behind her happy eyes. She's afraid it might ruin their relationship only hours after it's begun, but he's there to prove her wrong - with the help of a little T. Swift lullaby.

The night was shattered by a blood-curdling scream.

Azriel’s eyes flew open and he sat up, frantically searching in the dark. It took a few moments for the fog of sleep to burn away from his brain. He was at the cabin. For vacation. He’d come a day early to make sure everything was on the up-and-up. With Gwyn. They were a couple. Officially. The first few hours had been absolutely ordinary and wonderful.

“Stop! Please stop!”

Gwyn. Fuck, it was Gwyn!

He was out of bed and out the door in a second, sprinting down the hall. “Gwyn!” he called as he reached the closed door, but the screaming, the crying – it didn’t stop. Not giving himself time to overthink he turned the knob and pushed the door open wide. The room was bathed in the faintest glow of moonlight, allowing him to see the flailing form on the bed, tangled in sheets and begging the demons that were in her dreams.

When he reached the side of the bed his heart may have cracked open. Her forehead glistened with a thin sheen of sweat, her eyes were screwed tight, and her cheeks shimmered with tears.

“No. No, no, no,” she cried through clenched teeth, and Azriel decided he couldn’t take it anymore. He didn’t know what to do, but he needed to help her, to draw her away from whatever was tormenting her. He reached through her flying arms and cupped her cheeks between his hands.

“Gwyn. Wake up!” he called to her, willing her to wake. “Gwyn, please, it’s a nightmare. You’re safe, sweetheart.” Her eyes shot open, teal pools swimming with fear and confusion. Her limbs had stopped writhing, but God he could feel her shaking.

“Azriel?” she whispered weakly.

“Yes, Gwyn. It’s me. Don’t be scared.” He let his thumbs brush over her cheeks, wiping away tears that still fell freely over her freckled cheeks. “Talk to me, sweetheart. What can I do?”

She stared at him, chest heaving with deep ragged breaths, as if contemplating what to do. Azriel could understand. This was a vulnerable moment, and even though they’d been close friends for a couple years this was new territory. He had never heard her have a nightmare, and it wrenched into his gut like a knife. The feeling of uncertainty, of not knowing how to help her, only served to prove how deeply he cared about her. Their relationship was only hours old, but that was only because he’d been a coward and not because he hadn’t wanted to be with her - hadn't been falling for her already.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

She sighed and closed her eyes. “Not really. But we probably should.”

When new tears started leaking out from under her thick lashes he released her cheeks and stepped a knee onto the mattress. Scooping her up he leaned against the headboard and folded his legs in front of him, tucking the fiery crown of copper hair beneath his chin. He gave her time, content to trace fingers lightly over the thin t-shirt covering her back.

“Az, I… there’s something you should know. Something you should’ve known before you decided you wanted to be in a relationship with me.”

His brows furrowed. “You think it would change my mind?”

“I don’t know,” she answered, voice barely even a whisper. The silence stretched again. He couldn’t imagine what bombshell she thought might doom this before it even began. “How much do you know about the night my sister died?”

Azriel’s hand stilled on her back. This was not the direction he’d expected the conversation to go. But he shouldn’t be too surprised – it was indeed a nightmare-inducing event.

“Not too much. Just that she was killed in your apartment,” he answered, resuming the soothing stroke of his hands up and down her spine. “Nesta said there was more, but that it was your story to tell.”

“I guess it’s your lucky night,” she shrugged in his arms and let out a bitter wet laugh. Azriel just gave her an encouraging squeeze and leaned his cheek into her silky hair.

“Catrin was murdered by her ex-boyfriend. He was abusive, possessive, controlling. He couldn’t handle it when she broke it off with him. And he hated me. He thought that their breakup was my fault. That night he broke into the apartment with a gun and shot Catrin in the head. Killed her instantly. But… he waited there.” Gwyn took a shaky breath. “He waited in the apartment. For me.”

Azriel drew back from her, dread coiling his muscles in grim anticipation. She looked up at him, eyes dull with resignation. He had never seen her wear that expression before – it made his insides feel oily and wrong. His hand remained at her back, and he was determined to keep that calming presence there for her. Trailing his gaze down from her face, over her shoulders, and down her arms, he found her fingers fidgeting in her lap. He took his free hand and covered her delicate fingers, his palm large enough to envelop both of her speckled hands. He lifted his eyes to meet her teal pools again, lifting the corners of his mouth in a soft smile and squeezing gently with his fingers.

He was there for her. Whatever she needed he would give it.

Gwyn’s lashes lowered, breaking her hold on him. He blinked and tried to control his breathing, remaining dedicated to being fully invested in the woman in his arms. The woman who was baring her soul to him.

“He…” she gulped a breath and moved her fingers so they were grasping his hand instead of the other way around. She clung to it, grip like a vice as she mustered her courage. “He raped me. He told me I took her away from him, so he took her away from me. And that I would never, ever forget him.”

There was no air left in the room, Azriel was certain. His lungs wouldn’t work, his mouth was full of sand, his fingers tingling with vengeful need. All he could hear was Gwyn’s tearful, labored panting and echoes of the terror-filled screams that had ripped him from sleep.

“Christ, Gwyn,” he gritted out. The hand on her back lifted to cup her head and pull her to him. “I’m so sorry.” Jesus fucking Christ, no wonder she got nervous in large crowds and around people she didn’t know. No wonder she didn’t feel safe out in the world. The cruelty she had experienced, the evil she had been forced to endure – it was unimaginable. And somehow she still found the strength to smile and laugh and be a pure ray of sunshine to the people around her.

“Obviously the nightmares are one thing, but… but you should know I haven’t done anything with anyone since that night. Not until you kissed me.”

Azriel hissed a curse, grasping her shoulders and pushing her back so he could see her face. “Did I frighten you when I did that?” he asked desperately. If he’d only known, he would have approached that differently. He felt cool hands on his cheeks, breaking him from his panicked reverie.

“No, Az. Not at all.” His heart calmed, and then nearly stopped as she smiled sweetly. “I should have found it terrifying. Honestly, had it been anyone else I probably would have. But, with you it was… amazing. Like magic.”

He couldn’t contain the toothy grin that blossomed when she said that. Like magic. He had felt it, too, but he just figured the magic part was her. He slid his hands from her shoulders to cup her jaw and leaned in to brush his lips across her brow.

“So we need to talk about what makes you feel uncomfortable. So I can make sure you feel safe with me.” Azriel let a thumb slide over the freckles painting her cheek. “Thank you for trusting me with this, Gwyn. I couldn’t forgive myself if I triggered something – if I hurt you.”

Gwyn tilted her head and looked at him curiously, blue-green pools shining with something he couldn’t quite identify. “So…” she began, then trailed off and lowered her gaze. He felt her throat work under his fingers as she looked back to him. “So it doesn’t bother you?”

He regarded her carefully. “What do you mean?” Of course it bothered him. She’d been hurt, and she was still reliving that pain. He wanted to take it away, to make sure she never felt that way again. And he wanted to kill the bastard that had dared to lay a hand on her.

“That you have to be so careful with me,” she answered quietly before lowering those thick lashes and turning her chin away from him. He still had his hands on her jaw, but he let her move as she wished. “And that… that I don’t know what I’ll be able to do, in terms of intimacy. At least at this point- “

“Gwyneth Berdara.” Azriel gently turned her chin back to him. “I wouldn’t give a flying fuck if you wouldn’t do more than hold my hand. I care about you, not sex. Now, what do you like? What should I avoid?” Gwyn wrapped her hands around his neck and pulled herself back into his chest.

“I like this,” she sighed. He wrapped his arms back around her and went back to rubbing his hands over her back. “I think I’m probably okay with most things along the lines of hugs and kisses. As long as it’s not a surprise.”

He chuckled at that. “So no sneaking up and grabbing you from behind?” He pressed a kiss into her hair.

“I like that, too. The kisses.” Her voice was muffled against his chest, and she giggled when he kissed her crown again. “And absolutely no grabbing me from behind,” she confirmed.

“And for anything more, we go at your pace. Whatever you want to try, whenever you want more, you need only ask.” Silence lengthened between them, the night filled with only calm breathing and the gentle scratch of fingers over cotton.

“Do you have nightmares often? I…” Azriel paused, the heaviness of shame creeping into his chest. They were good friends, spent a lot of time together. How did he not know that this was a struggle she faced? “I don’t remember ever hearing anything before.”

“It’s not that bad anymore. But when I’m somewhere unfamiliar sometimes the anxiety triggers them,” Gwyn answered, her fingers fidgeting into the hair at his nape. “I… part of the reason I said I would come early with you was to see what would happen. And if it was a problem, I could go home without anyone being the wiser. I had already checked with Nesta to make sure you could ride back with her and Cassian.”

The softness of her voice – laced with embarrassment – cut into him. “Berdara,” he practically growled. He grasped her shoulders and pushed back so he could look her in the eye. “You were going to leave? Why?” He knew the reason. She’d said it only hours earlier. I don’t want to take away from anyone’s fun.

“Az,” she started, averting her gaze. “The prospect of waking up all of my friends in the middle of the night, screaming and begging, is legitimately mortifying.” He moved his hand to cup her cheek, even though she still wouldn’t look up at him.

“Gwyn, do you think any of us would have a problem with it? That we would judge you?” Even if they all didn’t know the depth of her trauma, she was not the only one with demons that attacked in the night. The answering murmur was almost too quiet to hear, but the words rang loud in his ears.

“I don’t want to cause a scene.”

Azriel thought over the last day. The road trip, the realizations. The determination that had filled him after he watched her dance behind the steering wheel, eyes glittering with mischief. The relief that coursed through his veins, the sunshine that had warmed his soul when she said she’d wanted him to kiss her for awhile, too. The soft smiles, her giggles, the comfort they seemed to share. All the while, beneath the surface, demons and nightmares and fear and pain. How was it that she could be so strong, so resilient? The smiles Gwyn gave to their friends, to him, were genuine and bright. Her laughter was always musical and lively, without even an echo of sorrow.

The shadows behind her eyes had come for her tonight. And she had planned to go home, with whatever weak excuse, and fight them alone.

Not fucking happening.

He cupped her other cheek and pulled her jaw up, that same determination from the previous day emboldening him. “Look at me, Gwyn.” He could feel the heat in her cheeks on his palms, and when her eyelashes lifted he was met with shallow pools darkened with uncertainty, shining with wetness. “You’re not going anywhere, okay? You’re going to stay here and enjoy your vacation because, like I said before, it’s not as much fun without you around.” He bore his gaze into her with an intensity he was unaccustomed to possessing. She sniffled in response, which only melted his heart further, and blinked a few times – clearly trying to keep tears in check as she managed a nod.

“You’re a part of this family, Gwyn. We support each other. We love each other. If anyone else were here tonight instead of me, they would have run here just as quickly as I did. And if it happens again tomorrow night, you’ll probably have the whole gaggle trying to squeeze through the door all at once.” A few stray tears fell from her eyes as a giggle escaped her. Azriel leaned in, capturing each tear between his lips and her cheeks. “You don’t have to deal with this alone. Let us be here for you. Let me.”

At that, the dam broke. Gwyn reached for him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and burying her face in his neck. He could feel the warm wetness of her tears on his skin, feel her body shake violently against him. Winding his arms around her back, he rocked them back and forth and whispered into her hair.

It’s okay.

I’m here.

You’re not alone.

He started to hum as her sobs began to quiet, still rocking with her in his embrace. He smiled softly to himself. He wouldn’t know this song if it weren’t for her. He didn’t share his voice with many people, but Gwyn had heard it many times. He broke into soft lyrics as the redhead continued to calm in his arms.

Just close your eyes, the sun is going down

You’ll be alright, no one can hurt you now

Come morning light you and I’ll be safe and sound

“Are you…” Gwyn’s thick voice was muffled in his neck. “Are you singing me Taylor Swift?”

Azriel chuckled. “I’ll deny it to everyone we know.” Her head tilted back, and the laugh that lifted into the air was one of the loveliest things he’d ever heard. A pealing bell of joy. She brought her gaze back to him and pulled on his neck to lean his forehead against hers. “I may or may not have come to appreciate the creative works of Taylor Swift. You’ve worn me down, Berdara.” He kept his arms around her back, even as her had moved over his cheek. Her teal stare was alight with emotion, the brightness reflected in a small – but radiant – smile.

“Thank you, Az,” she whispered before pressing her lips so softly to his. When she pulled back, he mirrored her grin.

“I don’t know much about being a good boyfriend,” he offered with a shrug, “but I feel like supporting your girlfriend’s potentially dubious music tastes and comforting her after nightmares are minimum standards. Standards that I hope to far exceed.”

“Well, I know it’s been less than a day – and I don’t really have much to compare you to – but I think you’re doing great.” Gwyn tapped a finger to his nose, and his eyes crinkled. Azriel lifted his chin and brushed his lips over her brow.

“That’s good. I have a number for you to call if you have any complaints.” He shifted slightly when his girlfriend yawned. “You think you can go back to sleep?”

“I dunno,” she murmured.

“Is there anything that has helped? In the past? Helped you get back to sleep?” Azriel absentmindedly rubbed a few strands of copper hair between his fingers. Gwyn gave a wry smile, but it faded quickly. “What?”

“Nesta would cuddle with me, when we lived together. She would hold onto me… it was like she would anchor me back to reality. To safety,” her voice was wistful, eyes distant. “But I couldn’t ask you to –“

“Do you want me to stay with you, Gwyn?” He traced a thumb in circles over her back. “If you’re comfortable with that, I will. Gladly. If you think it will help.” Azriel could only imagine that his own demons might also be subdued with her by his side.

Gwyn pushed away from him gently and he helped her move out of his lap. He watched her settle back onto the mattress, laying on her side facing him and pulling the blanked up toward her. She kept it lifted and lifted her eyes to him. His mouth curled up and he shimmied easily under the blanket to settle beside her.

“You tell me, Gwyn,” he whispered. Azriel didn’t want to presume how she would want him, instead seeking her guidance.

“Ummm… maybe stay on your back?” she replied. He put his hands behind his head and leaned back into the pillow, letting her move to where she wanted to be.

Gwyn sidled over to him and tentatively leaned up to place her head on his chest, tucking her hand under her chin. She wiggled a little bit, burrowing into her position.

“Comfy?” Azriel chuckled, receiving a contented ‘hmmm’ in return. He kept the arm closest to her tucked under his head, but he brought his other hand across him and grabbed the hand at her chin, weaving their fingers together. He brought their hands to his lips, pressing her knuckles against them. “No more fears, Berdara. I’m here. You’re safe.” He settled their joined hands over his abdomen, already feeling her heavy against him. Azriel stared into the dark, a warm blanket of contentment and strength settling over him. He had nightmares, too, things he also kept from nearly everyone. He would share those things with Gwyn, show her that she was not the only one with demons that attacked in dreams and that neither of them were alone. He had never felt so confident in the potential of a relationship, in the potential that he would be understood and accepted and loved. He already knew he would give those things to her - and more. With that newfound confidence he closed his eyes, her steady breathing lulling him to join her in peaceful, painless sleep.

[sylvie-writes]

Beautiful Just the Way You Are

word count: 1982

request: 

warnings: talks of negative self-image. please don’t read if this will upset you! 

a/n: this is part 5 of (undetermined) of me trying to finish requests that have been sent in ages ago. IM SO SORRY FOR THE WAIT. it’s been hard to write but hopefully these will do. please ignore any mistakes, I typed this a bit fast and didn’t really check.

Chris 

You and Chris were getting ready to go to one of his closest friend’s wedding. 

This would be the first time you would meet each other so making a good first impression was a must.

Chris had gone to pick up his suit from the dry cleaners and you were currently scouring through the four dresses your sister-in-laws had lended you. 

The wedding was a summer wedding and it was gonna be held on the beach. 

As of recently, the heat had gotten worse each day meaning you didn’t want to be stuck in a dress that caused you to sweat like a runner after 12 miles. 

Both of Chris’s sisters had noted this and unfortunately all four dresses before you were above the knee, something that made you uneasy.

It seemed that when you were going to meet people or attend public events, your insecurities crept up even more than usual and your mind would shove negative thoughts down your throat. 

You were gorgeous, no doubt, but with such poisonous thoughts of yourself, you couldn't see any beauty as your reflection stared back from the mirror.

The first dress was a lacy yellow v-neck dress. It slightly flared out to the sides and it complimented your figure beautifully.

The second dress was a black bodycon, which made you want to scream. While to the average eye, your curves flourished under this dress, all you could see was a belly and hips that you wanted gone.

The third and fourth dresses were similar with thin spaghetti straps and flowy bottoms which reminded you of a bell.  

Unbeknownst to you, Chris had come back sometimes in between trying on the second and third dress. 

He peeked through the door, admiring how amazing you looked. 

Chris kept thinking how lucky he was to have such a woman until he heard yells of anger that shook him from his daydream. 

That was when you tried on the last dress and the final straw was gone. 

Your anger turned into tears as you collapsed onto the food feeling nothing but pain and worthlessness. 

In seconds, Chris was on the floor with you, wrapping his arms around your front where your arms were held up to your eyes. 

He rocked you back and forth, shushing you gently. 

“(y/n), honey, speak to me. Tell me what I can do to help you?”

Words were worthless at this point and all Chris could make out was “dress.”

He put two and two together and realized that you were upset with the way you looked. 

For some time now, Chris knew this had been a problem, but he didn’t realize it would bubble up this badly.

He knew words of his compliments wouldn’t help at all because you’d just say that he was lying. 

All he wanted was for you to see yourself through his point of view because you were like an angel.

“Hey, love, listen to me.”

Chris removed your hands from your eyes and looked at you in the mirror. 

“You are stunning, always and forever. Your body does amazing things for you and for me.” He chuckled at the end causing you to laugh a bit, a sad smile on your face. 

“I know you don’t believe me, but I would never lie to you. I made you that promise all those years ago and I will keep it forever, you understand me?”

You nodded just wanting to shrug this whole embarrassing experience off. You were never one to want people to see you like this because it felt like you were vying for attention when you weren’t.

“No, (y/n), I want you to say.”

Rolling your eyes, you replied, “Yes, I know, Chris.” 

He smiled and kissed your temple, “There’s my girl. Now c’mon, let's keep this dress on and I’ll help you with your makeup.

Ransom

You and Ransom were at one of Harlan’s publishing parties.

The family was up to their usual shenanigans leaving you and Ransom to sip on one too many drinks to stay interested.

One Joni walked away after trying to sell you some of her face moisturizer that cost more than the largest bag of dog food, Ransom snuck up behind you and led you to the garden, away from the sight of any house guests.

“How about we sneak away and take a dip in the pool?” His eyebrows raised teasingly and it was hard to resist such an offer.

“But Ransom, I don’t have a swimsuit!” You motioned to your maxi dress that was too pretty to damage with chlorine. 

You set your drink down on the cement bench and went to sit beside it before Ransom grabbed your hand and smirked. 

“Fine by me, here, simple fix!” 

In seconds, Ransom slipped off your dress, not even with a tear which was shocking from his usual animalistic movements. 

This left you standing in your simple undergarments, yet feeling more naked than actually being so. 

Ransom placed a kiss on your head before jumping into the pool in his boxers and nothing more.

He seemed ever so happy, waving his arms for you to jump in as he shook his now mop-like hair, now looking like a wet dog. 

Instead, you were sitting quietly on the ledge of the pool, arms wrapped around your waist trying to cover every inch of your exposed body. 

You felt so terrible like the sight Ransom would see would be so repulsive because that was exactly what you were thinking. 

When Ransom noticed that you were frozen in your spot and zoned out on some dragonfly floating in the pool, he swam closer. 

Ransom placed his hands on your thighs and looked up to see tears running down your nose and cheeks, dropping onto your lap.

At his touch, you involuntarily pushed him away and Ransom respected your space, floating back a bit. 

“Angel, what’s wrong?” 

“Ransom, I don’t want to be out here like this!”

You were on the verge of yelling, but instead kept your voice at a harsh whisper.

“Are you afraid someone will see us because (y/n) I can assure you they won’t. Plus, they’ve seen worse happen in this pool, trust me.” Ransom laughed, but you didn’t and he picked up on this, deciding to remain serious for the rest of the conversation.

“No it’s not that. I don’t want YOU to see me like this!”

The man swimming in front of you was in shock at such negative words coming from your mouth. 

He looked at you as an absolute goddess and he often wondered why a beauty like you would stay with a mess like him.

Sure he was gorgeous on the outside, but you were both inside and out.

“You’re just saying that because you feel like you have to, Ransom.”

You huffed and looked the other way, not wanting to even glare at him. 

Ransom laid his head on your lap in defeat.

“What do you want me to do? Worship you? Because I will! Oh (y/n), have mercy on me with your beauty! You are just so-” 

At this point, Ransom was speaking as loud as possible and he knew he was getting on your nerves.

You playfully rolled your eyes, “OKAY OKAY.  I BELIEVE YOU. Will you just hush now!?” 

Ransom looked up with a devious glimmer in his eyes, before he pulled you into the pool and you squealed loudly. 

“I think you are the one who should hush now, missy!”

Andy 

Andy had just gotten off from work and you had just finished making a surprise dinner. 

He was delighted at the sight of homemade chicken pot pie along with two bottles of old fashioned soda, a small tradition between the two of you.

You both settled down to watch a movie with your plates of chicken pot pie.

Andy had picked a movie that you’d never seen before and within five minutes your happy mood had morphed into insecurity. 

Turning, you saw Andy intently watching the movie as the most perfect woman appeared on screen and the negativity sprawled from your mind, turning nothing into something. 

While Andy just innocently enjoyed the movie, your inner saboteur told you that he was more so enjoying the sight of the gorgeous woman on screen. 

After all he had been stuck with you, so you didn’t blame him. 

Well he wasn’t actually stuck with you, but that's what you told yourself. 

You told yourself that he just felt bad for you and that is why he stayed. 

Andy noticed that halfway through the movie, you were uncharacteristically quiet and a sour pout on your face. 

“Gosh, imagine looking like that! That would be a dream.” A bitter laugh ended your snide comment and Andy immediately shut off the tv.

“Why did you do that?!” 

Andy just shook his head, “Because of what you said! (y/n), is there something you’d like to tell me?” 

“All I said was that I wish I looked like her. What’s wrong with that?” You nonchalant shrugged and turned away from his hard stare. 

“Honey, I can read you very well and I can tell that wasn’t just a joke.” 

You were quiet and Andy continued to pry. He pulled you tight to his chest, murmuring whispers of praise causing you to break and cry quietly.

“See, even when you cry, you are pretty.” 

Steve

The funny thing about insecurities is that it can turn someone into an absolute mess or monster. 

In this instance it was both.

You and Steve were at a cafe, one that you had been visiting together for years now.

Today, it seemed that the cafe had hired new employees as at least four faces you didn’t recognize were waltzing around the kitchen. 

It didn’t bother you until a complete beauty who introduced herself as Cara waited at your table. 

At first it was like the green eyed monster had crawled out of you and you felt shameful all until gut intuition showed you that she was being a bit too friendly with Steve. 

Little glances from across the room with flirty waves. At one point you swore that she winked at him. 

Her tone would instantly change anytime she talked to you and that made your blood boil.

Steve noticed your change in attitude as a borderline scary scowl worked its way on your lips. 

You were burning holes into the back of her head as you thought about how perfect the two would be together. 

Steve tried to nudge your half of your sandwich to catch your attention as he was clueless to what was running through your head. 

“Hey, doll. Why don’t you eat your sandwich? The flies are crazy and I can’t keep them away for long!” He swatted at the nagging flies, laughing at how the tiny creatures were defeating him, Captain America. 

You didn’t hear any of what he said and instead mean words that never once came out of his mouth.

“Why don’t you go be with her. She’s so perfect for you anyway.”

You stood from the table and stormed out the door, the tiny bell above it mocking you.

Steve was utterly confused at this random outburst. 

All he had mentioned was the sandwich, nothing about a girl, especially the waitress, whatever her name was.

Thinking back, Steve realized that she was flirting with him, but he was just so used to being friendly that he didn’t notice that he had put up such an illusion.

Especially one that hurt you.

The only word he was able to get out was “what” before he rushed out behind you.

He grabbed your arm and spun you to face him, not angry as he knew exactly how being insecure felt. 

“(y/n), you are the only one who is perfect for me.” 

You just fell into his arms, remembering that you were truly the only one for Steve.

[galactic-magick]

Oblivious: Tech x Reader

Request: Could u possibly do a Tech x Reader where the batch is on an ocean planet of sorts and tech and the reader are nerding out over something like tide pools and the rest of the batch is like “how are these two so smart yet so oblivious to their feelings?”

Summary: You and The Bad Batch settle on an ocean planet for the night, and you and Tech seem to know everything except your own feelings for each other.

Words: 1000+

Warnings: none

Author’s Notes: Had to do some research on tide pools for this one lmao, and I made up a bunch of fake star wars science that probably doesn’t make any sense whatsoever, earth science experts don’t come at me pls XD

-

-

-

Laying low has been incredibly difficult for you and The Bad Batch, none of you are exactly the type to “blend in.” You’ve been hopping all over the galaxy, until you come across a planet almost entirely covered in ocean. It’s habitable, but not many people live on it due to the lack of large segments of land.

Thankfully though, you find an island that’s big enough for your ship and make a landing. You run out into the fresh air, the smell of salt water and cool breeze filling your nose. Tech follows close behind, analyzing the planet’s climate and resources, and the rest soon after.

“The tides are going to get much higher over the next couple hours, we’re going to lose much of the land we have right now,” Tech says, moving down the beach. “Don’t set anything up past this point,”

“Can we build a fire?” Wrecker asks excitedly.

“Why would we need a fire? Our ship has a heating system,”

“Because I want to!” he crosses his arms. “And what if the ship runs out of heat?”

“I think that’s a great idea!” Omega pipes up. “I’ve never even seen a campfire before,”

“You haven’t?!” Wrecker takes her hand and points to the small forest of trees on the other side of the island. “C’mon, let’s go!”

“Wait!” Tech calls after them, but they’re too fast. “Ugh. The wood is going to be too wet to use anyway, they’re wasting their time,”

“Hey, it doesn’t hurt to let them try,” you smile. “Besides, we’ll only be here a day or two at most, right?”

“I suppose,”

You skip across the rocks and sand, finding a couple tide pools with several sea creatures in them, “Look over here!”

“Careful, those are incredibly slippery,”

“I’ve never seen anything like these,” you poke at one. “Wait, didn’t you say high tide is later? That means the water will go even farther than this, we might be in trouble,”

“Not exactly. Tides are different depending on the gravitational pulls and phases of the moons, and this planet has three,”

“So?”

“So we’ll be fine,”

“This water is fresh, Tech. I don’t see how more moons changes the fact that these waves are going to drown us in a few hours,” you sigh. “Look, I get that you’re the intellectual around here, but I had ones like these back on my home planet, I know what I’m talking about,”

“Every planet is different, this one isn’t due for another tide that high for at least a couple weeks, the pools must just be deeper than average,”

“I guess you’re right,” you trust him, so you refrain from bickering any further. “Oh look! I think I’ve seen that fish before!”

“Really?” he cocks his head, looking towards where you’re pointing. “While interplanetary travel of non-sentient species is uncommon, it’s not impossible, although in most cases it’s considered an invasive species-“

“Nevermind,” you say as you lean closer. “It just looks similar,”

“Ah, I see,”

“You know, I love the kind of creatures in here, somehow they manage to survive despite the harsh conditions,” one of them crawls onto your hand. “They just stick to anything they can so they don’t get washed away by the water,”

“Especially somewhere like this,” he nods.

“What are you lovebirds going on about now?” Hunter exhales, walking up to you and barely holding back a smirk.

Both you and Tech immediately stop talking, avoiding eye contact. Sure, it’s true you fancy him a bit, but no way are you lovebirds of any sort. You bicker too much to ever admit your feelings anyway, and all your conversations are friendly or just exchanging thoughts and facts. Nothing special.

“You know,” Hunter continues. “You guys are the smartest people on the crew, but damn are you oblivious,”

He walks away, leaving you two in silence.

 -

 Against all odds, Wrecker and Omega actually do manage to make a fire for the evening. Omega’s eyes are glued to the flames, watching in awe and drowning out everything else.

You and Tech haven’t talked much since being called out by Hunter, not necessarily because you’re mad or bitter, but simply because you don’t know what to say.

Was Hunter right? Were you actually super into each other and you were just too stupid to see it?

Now that you think of it, Tech definitely treats you differently than everybody else. Not just because you’re not one of his brothers, but he genuinely goes out of his way to help and care about you. He’s super sweet when he wants to be.

As it gets later, most of the crew heads back to the ship to sleep. You’re honestly not that tired, so you stay by the fire, and Tech doesn’t leave either.

“Hey,”

“Hello,” he nods.

You scoot over until you’re sitting next to him, “What’s going on in that brain of yours?”

“Just…thinking,” he keeps staring forward at the fire. “For the first time in my life, I’m completely unsure about something,”

“How so?”

“Well, all my life, all our lives for that matter,” he gestures to the ship. “We’ve been born, raised, and trained to be soldiers. We’re literally created and grown for that purpose. We accept early on that we’ll probably never get the opportunity to live a normal life on our own terms. We don’t get the luxury of going where we want to go, staying where we want to stay. We don’t even get to choose our clothes or our food most of the time. We don’t get our own home, we don’t get to pick our jobs, we-“ he pauses. “We don’t get to fall in love,”

A quiet “oh” leaves your lips.

“Now that the Republic is gone, and we left the Empire, we’re not just soldiers anymore. We have the freedom to do all those things we couldn’t do. But how do I know what I should or shouldn’t pursue? How do I know what parts of normal life I should experience?”

You quickly lean in and kiss him, “You try it, Tech,”

He stares at you stunned, struggling to process what just happened.

“I…I think I should try it again. Just to be absolutely certain,”

“Of course,” you chuckle, kissing him again.